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Knight XIX Century 


Frontispiece, 



A KNIGHT 


|' OF THE 

■( 

Nineteenth Century. 

(; 


BY 

Rev. e. P. Roe, 

Author of “ Near to Nature’s Heart,” “ From Jest to Earnest,” 
“What Can She Do?” “Opening a Chestnut Burr,” 

“ Barriers Burned Away,” etc. 



NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD, AND COMPANY 

Publishers 








Jlil 



Copyright, 1877, 

By DODD, MEAD, & COMPANY. 


Copyright, 1892, 

By DODD, MEAD, & COMPANY, 


C\ SB 


THIS BOOK 


IS REVERENTLY DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OP 

MY HONORED FATHER. 



I 



PREFACE. 


He best deserves a knightly crest, 

Who slays the evils that infest 
His soul within. If victor here, 

He soon will find a wider sphere. 

The world is cold to him who pleads; 
The world bows low to knightly deeds. 

Cornwall on the Hudson, N. Y, 


V ' /* 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

, PAGE 

• Bad Training for a Knight 13 

CHAPTER II. 

Both Apologize 24 

CHAPTER III. 

Chained to an Iceberg 33 

CHAPTER IV. 

Immature 45 

CHAPTER V. 

Passion’s Clamor 58 

CHAPTER VI. 

“ Gloomy Grandeur ” 72 

CHAPTER VII. 

Birds of Prey 81 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Their Victim 95 

CHAPTER IX. 

Pat and the Press 105 

CHAPTER X. 

Returning Consciousness 114 

CHAPTER XL 

Haldane is Arrested 124 . 


lO 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A Memorable Meeting 137 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Our Knight in Jail 147 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Mr. Arnot’s System works Badly 154 

CHAPTER XV. 

Haldane’s Resolve 164 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Impulses'of Wounded Pride 172 

CHAPTER XVII. 

At Odds with the World 180 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The World’s Verdict — Our Knight a Criminal 190 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The World’s Best Offer — A Prison 197 

CHAPTER XX. 

Maiden and Wood-Sawyer 205 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Magnanimous Mr. Shrumpf 217 

CHAPTER XXII. 

A Man Who Hated Himself 224 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Mr. Growther Becomes Gigantic 236 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

How Public Opinion Is Often Made 247 

CHAPTER XXV. 

A Paper Poniard 257 


CONTENTS. 


II 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A Sorry Knight *^265 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

God Sent His Angel 273 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Facing the Consequences 280 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

How Evil Isolates 290 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Ideal Knighthood 298 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

The Low Starting-Point 308 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

• A Sacred Refrigerator 319 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A Doubtful Battle in Prospfct 329 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A Foot-hold 340 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

That Sermon was a Bomb-shell 346 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Mr. Growther Feeds an Ancient Grudge 355 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Hoping for a Miracle 363 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

The Miracle Takes Place 372 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Votaries of the World 381 


12 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XL. page 

Human Nature 394 

CHAPTER XLI 

Mrs. Arnot’s Creed 406 

CHAPTER XLII. 

The Lever that Moves the World , 418 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

Mr. Growther “ Stumped ” 428 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

Growth 440 

CHAPTER XLV. 

Laura Romeyn 455 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

Misjudged 464 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

Laura Chooses her Knight 475 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

Mrs. Arnot’s Knight 489 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

A Knightly Deed 502 

CHAPTER L. 

" O Dreaded Death!” 515 

CHAPTER LI. 

“O Priceless Life!”. 526 

CHAPTER LII. 

A Man versus a Connoisseur 544 

CHAPTER LIII. 

Exit of Laura’s First Knight 555 

CHAPTER LIV. 

Another Knight Appears 565 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Would he never look up? . . . . Frontispiece^ 

PAGE 

“ My young friend, if you wish to be a Saint,’' . . 22 

'‘Is THIS THE SHOP WHERE YER PAYS A DACENT PRICE FOR 

News ? ” 109 

He had a confused memory of a great disappointment, 121 

“You SHALL NO LONGER SAY I’m A DISGRACE TO YOU,” . 167 

“ Will you not speak to me, Mr. Haldane?” she asked, 21 i 

Haldane began reading aloud the “ Evening Spy,” . 250 

Haldane departed from the home of his childhood in 
THE guise of a LABORER, ...... 394 








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A Knight 

OF THE 

NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


CHAPTER I. 

BAD TRAINING FOR A KNIGHT. 

E gbert HALDANE had an enemy who loved 
him very dearly, and he sincerely returned her 
affection, as he was in duty bound, since she was his 
mother. If, inspired by hate and malice, Mrs. Hal- 
dane had brooded over but one question at the 
cradle of her child. How can I most surely destroy 
this boy? she could scarcely have set about the 
task more skillfully and successfully. 

But so far from having any such malign and un- 
natural intention, Mrs. Haldane idolized her son. 
To make the paradox more striking, she was actu- 
ally seeking to give him a Christian training and 
character. As he leaned against her knee Bible 
tales were told him, not merely for the sake of the 
marvelous interest which they ever have for chil- 
dren, but in the hope, also, that the moral they 
carry with them might remain as germinating seed 
At an early age the mother had commenced taking 

*3 


14 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

him to church, and often gave him an admonitory 
nudge as his restless eyes wandered from the vener- 
able face in the pulpit. In brief, the apparent influ- 
ences of his early life were similar to those existing 
in multitudes of Christian homes. On general prin- 
ciples, it might be hoped that the boy’s future would 
be all that his friends could desire ; nor did he him- 
self in early youth promise so badly to superficial 
observers ; and the son of the wealthy Mrs. Hal- 
dane was, on the part of the world, more the object 
of envy than of censure. But a close observer, who 
judged of characteristic tendencies and their results 
by the light of experience, might justly fear that the 
mother had unwittingly done her child irreparable 
wrong. 

She had made him a tyrant and a relentless task- 
master even in his infancy. As his baby-will de^ 
veloped he found it supreme. His nurse was obliged 
to be a slave who must patiently humor every whim. 
He was petted and coaxed out of his frequent fits 
of passion, and beguiled from his obstinate and sulky 
moods by bribes. He was the eldest child and only 
son, and his little sisters were taught to yield to 
him, right or wrong, he lording it over them with 
the capricious lawlessness of an Eastern despot. 
Chivalric deference to woman, and a disposition to 
protect and honor her, is a necessary element of a 
manly character in our Western civilization ; but 
young Haldane was as truly an Oriental as if he had 
been permitted to bluster around a Turkish harem ; 
and those whom he should have learned to wait upon 
with delicacy and tact became subservient to his 


BAD TRAINING FOR A KNIGHT. 


15 


varying moods, developing that essential brutality 
wliich mars the nature of every man who looks upon 
woman as an inferior and a servant. He loved his 
mother, but he did not reverence and honor her. The 
thought ever uppermost in his mind was, What 
ought she to do for me ? ” not, What ought I to 
do for her ? and any effort to curb or guide on her 
part was met and thwarted by passionate or obsti- 
nate opposition from him. He loved his sisters 
after a fashion, because they were his sisters ; but 
so far from learning to think of them as those whom 
it would be his natural task to cherish and protect, 
they were, in his estimation, “ nothing but girls,” and 
of no account whatever where his interests were con- 
cerned. 

In the most receptive period of life the poison of 
selfishness and self-love was steadily instilled into 
his nature. Before he had left the nursery he had 
formed the habit of disregarding the wills and wishes 
of others, even when his childish conscience told 
him that he was decidedly in the wrong. When he 
snatched his sisters* playthings they cried in vain, 
and found no redress. The mother made peace by 
smoothing over matters, and promising the little 
girls something else. 

Of course, the boy sought to carry into his school 
life the same tendencies and habits which he had 
learned at home, and he ever found a faithful ally 
in his blind, fond mother. She took his side against 
his teachers; she could not believe in his oppres- 
sions of his younger playmates ; she was absurdly 
indignant and resentful when some sturdy boy stood 


1 6 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

up for his own rights, or championed another's, and 
sent the incipient bully back to her, crying, and with 
a bloody nose. When the pampered youth was a 
little indisposed, or imagined himself so, he was 
coddled at home, and had bonbons and fairy tales 
in the place of lessons. 

Judicious friends shook their heads ominously, 
and some even ventured to counsel the mother to a 
wiser course ; but she ever resented such advice. 
The son was the image of his lost father, and her 
one impulse was to lavish upon him every thing 
that his heart craved. 

As if all this were not enough, she placed in the 
boy’s way another snare, which seldom fails of prov- 
ing fatal. He had only to ask for money to obtain 
it, no knowledge of its value being imparted to him. 
Even when he took it from his mother’s drawer 
without asking, her chidings were feeble and irreso 
lute. He would silence and half satisfy her by 
saying ; 

‘‘You can take any thing of mine that you want. 
It’s all in the family ; what difference does it make ? ” 

Thus every avenue of temptation in the city which 
could be entered by money was open to him, and he 
was not slow in choosing those naturally attractive 
to a boy. 

But while his mother was blind to the evil traits 
and tendencies which she was fostering with such 
ominous success, there were certain overt acts nat- 
urally growing out of her indulgences which would 
shock her inexpressibly, and evoke even from her 
the strongest expressions of indignation and rebuke. 


BAD TRAINING FOR A KNIGHT, 


17 


She was pre-eminently respectable, and fond of re- 
spect. She was a member in good and regular 
standing** not only of her church, but also of the 
best society in the small inland city where she re- 
sided, and few greater misfortunes in her estimation 
could occur than to lose this status. She never hesi- 
tated to humor any of her son's whims and wishes 
which did not threaten their respectability, but the 
quick-witted boy was not long in discovering that 
she would not tolerate any of those vices and asso- 
ciations which society condemns. 

There could scarcely have been any other result 
save that which followed. She had never taught 
him self-restraint ; his own inclinations furnished the 
laws of his action, and the wish to curb his desires 
because they were wrong scarcely ever crossed his 
mind. To avoid trouble with his mother, therefore, 
he began slyly and secretly to taste the forbidden 
fruits which her lavish supplies of money always kept 
within his reach. In this manner that most hope- 
less and vitiating of elements, deceitfulness, entered 
into his character. He denied to his mother, and 
sought to conceal from her, the truth that while 
still in his teens he was learning the gambler’s infat- 
uation and forming the inebriate's appetite. He 
tried to prevent her from knowing that many of his 
most intimate associates were such as he would not 
introduce to her or to his sisters. 

He had received, however, a few counter-bal- 
ancing advantages in his early life. With all her 
weaknesses, his mother was a lady, and order, refine- 
ment, and elegance characterized his home. Though 


t 


i8 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

not a gentleman at heart, on approaching manhood 
he habitually maintained the outward bearing that 
society demands. The report that he was a little fast 
was more than neutralized by the fact of his wealth. 
Indeed, society concluded that it had much more 
occasion to smile than to frown upon him, and his 
increasing fondness for society and its approval in 
some degree curbed his tendencies to dissipation. 

It might also prove to his advantage that so much 
Christian and ethical truth had been lodged in his 
memory during barly years. His mother had really 
taken pains to acquaint him with the Divine Man 
who “ pleased not himself,” even while she was prac- 
tically teaching him to reverse this trait in his own 
character. Thus, while the youth’s heart was sadly 
erratic, his head was tolerably orthodox, and he knew 
theoretically the chief principles of right action. 
Though his conscience had never been truly awak- 
ened, it often told him that his action was unmanly, 
to say the least ; and that was as far as any self- 
censure could reach at this time. But it might 
prove a fortunate thing that although thorns and 
thistles had been planted chiefly, some good seed 
had been scattered also, and that he had received 
some idea of a life the reverse of that which he was 
leading. 

But thus far it might be said with almost lit- 
eral truth, that young Hald^e’s acquaintance with 
Christian ethics h^d had no more^, practical effect 
upon his habitual acHon and thought than his knowl- 
edge of algebra. VV^en his mother permitted him 
to snatch his sisters’ playtfiirigs and keep them, 


BAD TRAINING FOR A KNIGHT. 


»9 

when she took him from the school where he had 
received well-merited punishment, when she en- 
slaved herself and her household to him instead of 
teaching considerate and loyal devotion to her, she 
nullified all the Christian instruction that she or any 
one else had given. 

The boy had one very marked trait, which might 
promise well for the future, or otherwise, according 
to circumstances, and that was a certain willful per- 
sistence, which often degenerated into downright 
obstinacy. Frequently, when his mother thought 
that she had coaxed or wheedled him into giving up 
something of which she did not approve, he would 
quietly approach his object in some other way, and 
gain his point, or sulk till he did. When he set his 
heart upon any thing he was not as “ unstable as 
water." While but an indifferent and superficial 
student, who had habitually escaped lessons and 
skipped difficulties, he occasionally became nettled 
by a perplexing problem or task, and would work at 
it with a sort of vindictive, unrelenting earnestness, 
as if he were subduing an enemy. Having put his 
foot on the obstacle, and mastered the difficulty that 
piqued him, he would cast the book aside. Indiffer- 
ent to the study or science of which it formed but a 
small fraction. 

After all, perhaps the best that could be said of 
him was that he possessed fair abilities, and was 
still subject to the good and gei^^rous impulses of 
youth. His traits and tendencies were, in the main, 
all wrong ; but he had not as yet become confirmed 
and hardened in them. Contact with the world, 


20 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

which sooner or later tells a man the truth about 
himself, however unwelcome, might dissipate the il- 
lusion, gained front his mother’s idolatry, that in 
some indefinite way he was remarkable in himself, 
and that he was destined to great things from a 
vague and innate superiority, which it had never 
occurred to him to analyze. 

But as the young man approached his majority 
his growing habits of dissipation became so pro- 
nounced that even his willingly blind mother was 
compelled to recognize them. Rumor of his fast 
and foolish behavior took such definite shape as to 
penetrate the widow’s aristocratic retirement, and to 
pass the barriers created by the reserve which she 
ever maintained in regard to personal and family 
matters. More than once her son came home in a 
condition so nearly resembling intoxication that she 
was compelled to recognize the cause, and she was 
greatly shocked and alarmed. Again and again she 
said to herself ; 

I cannot understand how a boy brought up in 
the careful Christian manner that he has been can 
show such unnatural depravity. It is a dark, mys- 
terious providence, to which I feel I cannot sub- 
mit.” 

Though young Haldane was aware of his mother’s 
intolerance of disreputable vices and follies, he was 
not prepared for her strong and even bitter condem- 
nation of his action. Having never been taught to 
endure from her nor from any one the language of 
rebuke, he retorted as a son never should do in any 
circumstances, and stormy scenes followed. 


BAD TRAINING FOR A KNIGHT. 


2\ 


Thus the mother was at last rudely awakened to 
the fact that her son was not a model youth, and 
that something must be done speedily, or else he 
n'^ght go to destruction, and in the meantime dis- 
grace both himself and her — an event almost equally 
to be dreaded. 

In her distress and perplexity she summoned her 
pastor, and took counsel with him. At her request 
the venerable man readily agreed to ‘‘ talk to ” the 
wayward subject, and thought that his folly and its 
consequences could be placed before the young man 
in such a strong and logical statement that it would 
convince him at once that he must “ repent and 
walk in the ways of righteousness.** If Haldane*s 
errors had been those of doctrine. Dr. Marks would 
have been an admirable guide ; but the trouble was 
that while the good doctor was familiar with all the 
readings of obscure Greek and Hebrew texts, and all 
the shades of opinions resulting, he was unacquaint- 
ed with even the alphabet of human nature. In ap- 
proaching a sinner,*’ he had one formal and unvary- 
ing method, and he chose his course not from the 
bearing of the subject himself, but from certain gen- 
eral theological truths which he believed applied to 
the unrenewed heart of man as a fallen race.** He 
rather prided himself upon calling a sinner a sinner, 
and all things else by their right names ; and thus it 
is evident that he often had but little of the Pauline 
guile, which enabled the great apostle to entangle 
the wayward feet of Jew, Greek and Roman, bond 
and free, in heavenly snares. 

The youth whom he was to convince and convert 


22 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

by a single broadside of truth, as it were, moved in 
such an eccentric orbit, that the doctor could never 
bring his heavy artillery to bear upon him. Neither 
coaxing nor scolding on the part of the mother could 
biing about the formal interview. At last, however, 
it was secured by an accident, and his mother felt 
thereafter, with a certain sense of consolation, that 

all had been done that could be done.’' 

Entering the parlor unexpectedly one afternoon, 
Haldane stumbled directly upon Dr. Marks, who 
opened fire at once, by saying : 

My young friend, this is quite providential, as I 
have long been wishing for an interview. Please be 
seated, for I have certain things to say which relate 
to your spiritual and temporal well-being, although 
the latter is a very secondary matter.” 

Haldane was too well bred to break rudely and 
abruptly away, and yet it must be admitted that he 
complied with very much the feeling and grace with 
which he would take a dentist’s chair. 

** My young friend, if you ever wish to be a saint 
you must first have a profound conviction that you 
are a sinner. I hope that you realize that you are a 
sinner.” 

“ I am quite content to be a gentleman,” was the 
brusque reply. 

“ But as long as you remain an impenitent sinner 
you can never be even a true gentleman,” responded 
the clergyman somewhat warmly. 

Haldane had caught a shocked and warning look 
from his mother, and so did not reply. He saw that 
he was “in for it,” as he would express himself, and 







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BAD TRAINING FOR A KNIGHT. 


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surmised that the less he said the sooner the ordeal 
would be over. He therefore took refuge in a silence 
that was both sullen and resentful. He was too 
young and uncurbed to maintain a cold and impas- 
sive face, and his dark eyes occasionally shot vindic- 
tive gleams at both his mother and her ally, who had 
so unexpectedly caged him against his will. Fortu- 
nately the doctor was content, after he had got under 
weigh, to talk at, instead of to, his listener, and thus 
was saved the mortification of asking questions of 
one who would not have answered. 

After the last sonorous period had been rounded, 
the youth arose, bowed stiffly, and withdrew, but 
with a heart overflowing with a malicious desire to 
retaliate. At the angle of the house stood the 
clergyman’s steady-going mare, and his low, old- 
fashioned buggy. It was but the work of a moment 
to slip part of the shuck of a horse-chestnut, with its 
sharp spines, under the collar, so that when the 
traces drew upon it the spines would be driven into 
the poor beast’s neck. Then, going down to the 
main street of the town, through which he knew 
the doctor must pass on his way home, he took 
his post of observation. 




J4 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


CHAPTER II 

BOTH APOLOGIZE. 

H ALDANE’S hopes were realized beyond his 
anticipations, for the doctor’s old mare— at first 
surprised and restless from the wounds made by the 
sharp spines — speedily became indignant and frac- 
tious, and at last, half frantic with pain, started on 
a gallop down the street, setting all the town agog 
with excitement and alarm. 

With grim satisfaction Haldane saw the doctor’s 
immaculate silk hat fly into the mud, his wig, blown 
comically awry, fall over his eyes, and his spectacles 
joggle down until they sat astride the tip of a 
rather prominent nose. 

Having had his revenge he at once relented, and 
rushing out in advance of some others who were 
coming to the rescue, he caught the poor beast, and 
stopped her so suddenly that the doctor was nearly 
precipitated over the dash-board. Then, pretending 
to examine the harness to see that nothing was 
broken, he quietly removed the cause of irritation, 
and the naturally sedate beast at once became far 
more composed than her master, for, as a bystander 
remarked, the venerable doctor was dreadfully 
shuck up.” It was quite in keeping with Haldane’s 


BOTH APOLOGIZE. 


disingenuous nature to accept the old gentleman’s 
profuse thanks for the rescue. The impulse to carry 
his mischief still further was at once acted upon, and 
he offered to see the doctor safely home. 

His services were eagerly accepted, for the poor 
man was much too unnerved to take the reins again, 
though, had he known it, the mare would now have 
gone to the parsonage quietly, and of her own ac- 
cord. 

The doctor was gradually righted up and com- 
posed. His wig, which had covered his left eye, was 
arranged decorously in its proper place, and the gold- 
rimmed spectacles pressed back so that the good 
man could beam mildly and gratefully upon his sup- 
posed preserver. The clerical hat, however, had 
lost its character beyond recovery, and though its 
owner was obliged to wear it home, it must be con- 
fessed that it did not at all comport with the doctor’s 
dignity and calling. 

Young Haldane took the reins with a great show 
of solicitude and vigilance, appearing to dread an- 
other display of viciousness from the mare, that was 
now most sheep-like in her docility; and thus, with 
his confiding victim, he jogged along through the 
crowded street, the object of general approval and 
outspoken commendation. 

“ My dear young friend,” began the doctor fer- 
vently, “ I feel that you have already repaid me 
amply for my labors in your behalf.” 

“Thank you,” said Haldane demurely; “ I think 
we are getting even.” 

“ This has been a very mysterious affair,” contin- 

3 


26 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

ued the doctor musingly ; “ surely * a horse is a vain 
thing for safety.’ One is almost tempted to believe 
that demoniacal possession is not wholly a thing of 
the past. Indeed, I could not think of any thing 
else while Dolly was acting so viciously and unac- 
countably.” 

“ I agree with you,” responded Haldane gravely: 
“ she certainly did come down the street like the 
devil.” 

The doctor was a little shocked at this putting of 
his thoughts into plain English, for it sounded some- 
what profanely. But he was in no mood to find 
fault with his companion, and they got on very well 
together to the end of their brief journey. The 
young scapegrace was glad, indeed, that it was brief, 
for his self-control was fast leaving him, and having 
bowed a rather abrupt farewell to the doctor, he 
was not long in reaching one of his haunts, from 
which during the evening, and quite late into the 
night, came repeated peals ot laughter, that grew 
more boisterous and discordant as that synonym of 
mental and moral anarchy, the “ spirit of wine,” 
gained the mastery. 

The tidings of her son’s exploit in rescuing the 
doctor were not long in reaching Mrs. Haldane, and 
she felt that the good seed sown that day had borne 
immediate fruit. She longed to fold him in her 
arms and commend his courage, while she poured 
out thanksgiving that he himself had escaped unin- 
jured, which immunity, she believed, must have re- 
sulted from the goodness and piety of the deed. 
But when he at last appeared with step so unsteady 


BOTH APOLOGIZE, 


27 


and utterance so thick that even she could not mis- 
take the cause, she was bewildered and bitterly dis- 
appointed by the apparent contradictoriness of his 
pction ; and when he, too far gone for dissimulation, 
described and acted out in pantomime the doctor's 
plight and appearance, she became half hysterical 
from her desire to laugh, to cry, and to give vent to 
her kindling indignation. 

This anger was raised almost to the point of white 
heat on the morrow. The cause of the old mare’s 
behavior, and the interview which had led to the 
practical joke, soon became an open secret, and 
while it convulsed the town with laughter, it also 
gave the impression that young Haldane was in a 
“ bad way.” 

It was not long before Mrs. Haldane received a note 
from an indignant fellow church-member, in which, 
with some disagreeable comment, her son’s conduct 
was plainly stated. She was also informed that the 
doctor had become aware of the rude jest of which 
he had been the subject. Mrs. Haldane was almost 
furious ; but her son grew sullen and obstinate as the 
storm which he had raised increased. The only thing 
he would say as an apology or excuse amounted to 
this : 

“ What else could he expect from one whom he 
so emphatically asserted was a sinner? ” 

The mother wrote at once to the doctor, and was 
profuse in her apologies and regrets, but was obliged 
to admit to him that her son was beyond her con- 
trol. 

When the doctor first learned the truth his equa- 


28 KNIGHT OF THF NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

nimity was almost as greatly disturbed as it had 
been on the previous day, and his first emotions 
were obviously those of wrath. But a little thought 
brought him to a better mood. 

He was naturally deficient in tact, and his long 
habit of dwelling upon abstract and systematic truth 
had diminished his power of observantly and intui- 
tively gauging the character of the one with whom 
he was dealing. He therefore often failed wofully 
in adaptation, and his sermons occasionally went off 
into rarefied realms of moral space, where nothing 
human existed. But his heart was true and warm, 
and his Master's cause of far more consequence to 
him than his own dignity. 

As he considered the matter maturely he came to 
the conclusion that there must have been something 
wrong on both sides. If he had presented the truth 
properly the young man could not have acted so 
improperly. After recalling the whole affair, he be- 
came satisfied that he had relied far too much on 
his own strong logic, and it had seemed to him that 
it must convince. He had forgotten for the mo- 
ment that those who would do good should be very 
humble, and that, in a certain sense, they must take 
the hand of God, and place it upon the one whom 
they would save. 

Thus the honest old clergyman tried to search out 
the error and weakness which had led to such a la- 
mentable failure in his efforts ; and when at last 
Mrs. Haldane’s note of sorrowful apology and mo- 
therly distress reached him, his anger was not only 
gone, but his heart was full of commiseration for 


BOTH APOLOGIZE. 


39 


both herself and her son. He at once sat down, and 
wrote her a kind and consolatory letter, in which 
he charged her hereafter to trust less to the “ arm 
of flesh ” and more to the “ power of God.” He 
also inclosed a note to the young man, which his 
mother handed to him with a darkly reproachful 
glance. He opened it with a contemptuous frown, 
expecting to find within only indignant upbraidings; 
but his face changed rapidly as he read the follow- 
ing words ; 

My dear young Friend : — I hardly know which of us should apol- 
ogize. I now perceive and frankly admit that there was wrong on 
my side. I could not have approached you and spoken to you in the 
right spirit, for if I had, what followed could not have occurred. I 
fear there (vas a self-sufficiency in my words and manner yesterday, 
which made you conscious of Dr. Marks only, and you had no scru- 
ples. in dealing with Dr. Marks as you did. If my words and bearing 
had brought you face to face with my august yet merciful Master, you 
would have respected Him, and also me, His servant. I confess 
that I was very angry this morning, for I am human. But now I am 
more concerned lest I have prejudiced you against Him by whom 
alone we all are saved. 

Yours faithfully, 

Zebulon Marks. 

The moment Haldane finished reading the note 
he left the room, and his mother heard him at the 
hat-rack in the hall, preparing to go out. She, sup- 
posing that he was again about to seek some of his 
evil haunts, remonstrated sharply ; but, without pay- 
ing the slightest attention to her words, he departed, 
and within less than half an hour rang the bell at 
the parsonage. 

Dr, Marks could scarcely believe his eyes as the 
young man was shown into his study, but he wel- 


30 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

corned him as cordially as though nothing unpleas- 
ant had occurred between them. 

After a moment’s hesitation and embarrassment 
Haldane began, 

When I read your note this evening I had not 
the slightest doubt that I was the one to apologize, 
and I sincerely ask your pardon.” 

The old gentleman’s eyes grew moist, and he 
blew his nose in a rather unusual manner. But he 
said promptly : 

“ Thank you, my young friend, thank you. I 
appreciate this. But no matter about me. How 
about my Master? won’t you become reconciled to 
Him?” 

“ I suppose by that you mean, won’t you be a 
Christian? ” 

“ That is just what I mean and most desire. I 
should be willing to risk broken bones any day to 
acccomplish that.” 

Haldane smiled, shook his head, and after a mo- 
ment said : 

“ I must confess that I have not the slightest wish 
to become a Christian.” 

The old gentleman’s eager and interested expres- 
sion changed instantly to one of the deepest sorrow 
and commiseration. At the same time he appeared 
bewildered and perplexed, but murmured, more in 
soliloquy than as an address to the young man, 

“ O Ephraim ! how shall 1 give thee up?” 

Haldane was touched by the venerable man’s tone 
and manner, more than he would have thought pos- 
sible, and, feeling that he could not trust himself 


BOTH APOLOGIZE, 


31 


any longer, determined to make his escape as soon 
as practicable. But as he rose to take his leave he 
said, a little impulsively : 

I feel sure, sir, that if you had spoken and looked 
yesterday as you do this evening I would not have — 
I would not have — " 

I understand, my young friend : I now feel sure 
that I was more to blame than yourself, and your 
part is already forgiven and forgotten. I am now 
only solicitous about you.** 

** You are very kind to feel so after what has hap- 
pened, and I will say this much — If I ever do wish to 
become a Christian, there is no one living to whom 
I will come for counsel more quickly than yourself. 
Good night, sir." 

** Give me your hand before you go." 

It was a strong, warm, lingering gra^p that the old 
man gave, and in the dark days of temptation that 
followed, Haldane often felt that it had a helping and 
sustaining influence. 

** I wish I could hold on to you," said the doc- 
tor huskily ; “ I wish I could lead you by loving 
force into the paths of pleasantness and peace. But 
what I can’t do, God can. Good-by, and God bless 
you." 

Haldane fled rather precipitously, for he felt that 
he was becoming constrained by a loving violence 
that was as mysterious as it was powerful. Before 
he had passed through the main street of the town, 
however, a reckless companion placed an arm in his, 
and led him to one of their haunts, where he drank 
deeper than equal, that he might get rid of the 


32 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

compunctions which the recent interview had oc- 
casioned. 

His mother was almost in despair when he re^ 
turned. He had, indeed, become to her a terrible 
and perplexing problem. As she considered the 
legitimate results of her own weak indulgence she 
would sigh again and again : 

Never was there a darker and more mysterious 
providence. I feel that I can neithei understand it 
nor submit.” 

A sense of helplessness in dealing with this stub- 
born and perverse will overwhelmed her, and, while 
feeling that something must be done, she was at a 
loss what to do. Her spiritual adviser having failed 
to meet the case, she next summoned her legal 
counselor, who managed her property. 

He was a man of few words, and an adept in 
worldly wisdom. 

‘‘Your son should have employment,” he said; 

“ * Satan finds some mischief still 
For idle hands,’ 

etc., is a sound maxim, if not first-class poetry. If 
Mr. Arnot, the husband of your old friend, is willing 
to take him, you cannot do better than place your 
son in his charge, for he is one of the most methodi- 
cal and successful business men of my acquaintance.*' 

Mrs. Arnot, in response to her friend’s letter, in- 
duced her husband to make a position in his count- 
ing-house for young Haldane, who, from a natural 
desire to see more of the world, entered into the ar- 
rangement ver}’ willingly. 


CHAINED TO AN ICEBERG. 


as 


CHAPTER III. 

CHAINED TO AN ICEBERG. 

H ILLATON, the suburban city in which the 
Arnots resided, was not very distant from New 
York, and drew much of its prosperity from its rela- 
tions with the metropolis. It prided itself much on 
being a university town, but more because many old 
families of extremely blue blood and large wealth 
gave tone and color to its society. It is true that this 
highest social circle was very exclusive, and formed 
but a small fraction of the population ; but the peo- 
ple in general had come to speak of “ our society,*' 
as being “ unusually good,” just as they commended 
to strangers the architecture of “ our college build- 
ings,’* though they had little to do with either. 

Mrs. Arnot’s blood, however, was as blue as that 
of the most ancient and aristocratic of her neigh- 
bors, while in character and culture she had few 
equals. But with the majority of those most ceru- 
lean in their vital fluid the fact that she possessed 
large wealth in her own name, and was the wife of 
a man engaged in a colossal business, weighed more 
than all her graces and ancestral honors. 

Young Haldane’s employer, Mr. Arnot, was, in- 
deed, a man of business and method, for the one ab* 


34 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

sorbed his very soul, and the other divided his life 
into cubes and right angles of manner and habit. It 
could scarcely be said that he had settled down into 
ruts, for this would presuppose the passiveness of a 
nature controlled largely by circumstances. People 
who travel in ruts drop more often into those made 
by others than such as are worn by themselves. Mr. 
Arnot moved rather in his own well-defined grooves, 
which he had deliberately furrowed out with his own 
steely will. In these he went through the day with 
the same strong, relentless precision which charac- 
terized the machinery in his several manufacturing 
establishments. 

He was a man, too, who had always had his own 
way, and, as is usually true in such instances, the 
forces of his life had become wholly centripetal. 

The cosmos of the selfish man or woman is prac- 
tically this — Myself the center of the universe, and 
all things else are near or remote, of value or other- 
wise, in accordance with their value and interest to 
me. 

Measuring by this scale of distances (which was 
the only correct one in the case of Mr. Arnot) the 
wife of his bosom was quite a remote object. She 
formed no part of his business, and he, in his hard, 
narrow worldliness, could not even understand the 
principles afid motives of her action. She was a 
true and dutiful wife, and presided over his house- 
hold with elegance and refinement ; but he regarded 
all this as a matter of course. He could not con- 
ceive of anything else in his wife. All his “ subor- 
dinates*’ in their several spheres, “ must' ’ perform 


CHAINED TO AN ICEBERG. 


35 


their duties with becoming propriety. Every thing 
** must be regular and systematic ” in his house, as 
truly as in his factories and counting-room 

Mrs. Arnot endeavored to conform to his pecu- 
liarities in this respect, and kept open the domestic 
grooves in which it was necessary to his peace that 
he should move regularly and methodically. He 
had his meals at the hour he chose, to the moment, 
and when he retired to his library — or, rather, the 
business" office at his house — not the throne-room 
of King Ahasuerus was more sacred from intrusion ; 
and seldom to his wife, even, was the scepter of 
favor and welcome held out, should she venture to 
enter. 

For a long time she had tried to be an affectionate 
as well as a faithful wife, for she had married this 
man from love. She had mistaken his cool self-poise 
for the calmness and steadiness of strength ; and 
women are captivated by strength, and sometimes 
by its semblance. He was strong ; but so also are 
the driving-wheels of an engine. 

There is an undefined, half-recognized force in 
nature which leads many to seek to balance them- 
selves by marrying their opposites in temperament. 
While the general working of this tendency is, no 
doubt, beneficent, it not unfrequently brings together 
those who are so radically different, that they cannot 
supplement each other, but must ever remain two 
distinct, unblended lives, that are in duty bound to 
obey the letter of the law of marriage, but who cam 
not fulfill its spirit. 

For years Mrs. Arnot had sought with all a 


36 KNICHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

woman’s tact to consummate their marriage, so that 
the mystical words of God, “ And they twain shall 
be one flesh,” should describe their union ; but as 
time passed she had seen her task grow more and 
more hopeless. The controlling principles of each 
life were utterly different. He was hardening into 
stone, while the dross and materiality of her nature 
were being daily refined away. A strong but wholly 
selfish character cannot blend by giving and taking, 
and thus becoming modified into something different 
and better. It can only absorb, and thus drag down 
to its own condition. Before there can be unity, 
the weaker one must give up and yield personal 
will and independence to such a degree that it is al- 
most equivalent to being devoured and assimilated. 

But Mr. Arnot seemed to grow too narrow and 
self-sufficient in his nature for such spiritual canni- 
balism, even had his wife been a weak, neutral char- 
acter, with no decided and persistent individuality 
of her own. He was not slow in exacting outward 
and mechanical service, but he had no time to 
“ bother ” with her thoughts, feelings, and opinions ; 
nor did he think it worth while, to any extent, to 
lead her to reflect only his feelings and opinions. 
Neither she nor any one else was very essential to 
him. His business was necessary, and he valued it 
even more than the wealth which resulted from it. 
He grew somewhat like his machinery, which needed 
attention, but which cherished no sentiments to- 
ward those who waited on it during its hours of 
motion. 

Thus, though not deliberately intending it, his 


CHAINED TO AN ICEBERG. 


37 


manner toward his wife had come to be more and 
more the equivalent of a steady black frost, and she 
at last feared that the man had congealed or petri- 
fied to his very heart’s core. 

While the only love in Mr. Arnot’s heart was self- 
love, even in this there existed no trace of weak in- 
dulgence and tenderness. His life consisted in mak- 
ing his vast and complicated business go forward 
steadily, systematically, and successfully ; and he 
would not permit that entity known as Thomas 
Arnot to thwart him any more than he would brook 
opposition or neglect in his office-boy. All things, 
even himself, must bend to the furtherance of his 
cherished objects. 

But, whatever else was lacking, Mr. Arnot had a 
profound respect for his wife. First and chiefly, she 
was wealthy, and he, having control of her property, 
made it subservient to his business. He had chafed 
at first against what he termed her “ sentimental 
ways of doing good ” and her “ ridiculous theories,” 
but in these matters he had ever found her as gentle 
as a woman, but as unyielding as granite. She told 
him plainly that her religious life and its expression 
were matters between herself and God — that it was 
a province into which his cast-iron system and ma- 
terial philosophy could notenter. He grumbled at 
her large charities, and declared that she “ turned 
their dwelling into a club-house for young men ; ” 
but she followed her conscience with such a quiet, 
unswerving dignity that he found no pretext for in- 
terference. The money she gave away was her own, 
and fortunately, the house to which it was her de- 


38 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEEETH CENTURY, 

light to draw young men from questionable and dis- 
reputable places of resort had been left to her by 
her father. Though she did not continually remind 
her husband of these facts, as an under-bred woman 
might have done, her manner was so assured and 
unhesitating that he was compelled to recognize her 
rights, and to see that she was fully aware of them 
also. Since she yielded so gracefully and consider- 
ately all and more than he could justly claim, he 
finally concluded to ignore what he regarded as her 
“ peculiarities.” As for himself, he had no peculiari- 
ties. He was a practical, sensible, man, with no 
nonsense about him.” 

Mrs. Haldane had been in such sore straits and 
perplexity about her son that she overcame her ha- 
bitual reserve upon family and personal matters, 
and wrote to her friend a long and confidential let- 
ter, in which she fully described the “ mysterious 
providence ” which was clouding her life. 

Mrs. Arnot had long been aware of her friend’s 
infirmity, and more than once had sought with deli- 
cacy and yet with faithfulness to open her eyes to the 
consequences of her indulgence. But Mrs. Haldane, 
unfortunately, was incapable of taking a broad, and 
therefore correct, view of any thing. She was gov- 
erned far more by her prejudices and feelings than 
by reason or experience, and the emotion or preju- 
dice uppermost absorbed her mind so completely as 
to exclude all other considerations. Her friendship 
for Mrs. Arnot had commenced at school, but the 
two ladies had developed so differently that the re- 
lation had become more a cherished memory of the 


CHAINED TO AN ICEBERG. 


59 


happy past than a congenial intimacy of their mar 
turer life. 

The “ mysterious providence ” of which Mrs. Hal- 
dane wrote was to Mrs. Arnot a legitimate and al- 
most inevitable result. But, now that the mischief 
had been accomplished, she was the last one in the 
world to say to her friend, I told you so.” To her 
mind the providential feature in the matter was the 
chance that had come to her of counteracting the 
evil which the mother had unconsciously developed. 
This opportunity was in the line of her most cher- 
ished plan and hope of usefulness, as will be here- 
after seen, and she had lost no time In persuading 
her husband to give Haldane employment in hi? 
counting-room. She also secured his consent that 
the youth should become a member of the family, 
for a time at least. Mr. Arnot yielded these points 
reluctantly, for it was a part of his policy to have 
no more personal relations with his employ^ than 
with his machinery. He wished them to feel that 
they were merely a part of his system, and that the 
moment any one did not work regularly and accu- 
rately he must be cast aside as certainly as a broken 
or defective wheel. But as his wife’s wealth made 
her practically a silent partner in his vast business, 
he yielded — though with rather ill grace, and with a 
prediction that it “would not work well.” 

Haldane was aware that his mother had written a 
long letter to Mrs. Arnot, and he supposed that his 
employer and his wife had thus become acquainted 
with all his misdeeds. He, therefore, rather dread- 
ed to meet those who must, from the first, regard 


40 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

him as a graceless and difficult subject, that could 
not be managed at home. But, with the character- 
istic recklessness of young men who have wealth to 
fall back upon, he had fortified himself by thoughts 
like the following : 

“ If they do not treat me well, or try to put me 
into a straight-jacket, or if I find the counting-house 
too dull, I can bid them good morning whenever I 
choose.” 

But Mrs. Arnot’s frank and cordial reception was 
an agreeable surprise. He arrived quite late in the 
evening, and she had a delightful little lunch brought 
to him in her private parlor. By the time it was 
eaten her graceful tact had banished all stiffness and 
sense of strangeness, and he found himself warm- 
ing into friendliness toward one whom he had espe- 
cially dreaded as a “ remarkably pious lady ” — for 
thus his mother had always spoken of her. 

It was scarcely strange that he should be rapidly 
disarmed by this lady, who cannot be described in 
a paragraph. Though her face was rather plain, it 
was so expressive of herself that it seldom failed 
to fascinate. Nature can do much to render a 
countenance attractive, but character accomplishes 
far more. The beauty which is of feature merely 
catches the careless, wandering eye. The beauty 
which is the reflex of character holds the eye| and 
eventually wins the heart. Those who knew Mrs. 
Arnot best declared that, instead o.f growing old 
and homely, she was growing more lovely every 
year. Her dark hair had turned gray early, and 
was fast becoming snowy white. For some years 


CHAINED TO AN ICEBERG. 


41 


after her marriage she had grown old very fast. She 
had dwelt, as it were, on the northern side of an 
iceberg, and in her vain attempt to melt and hu- 
manize it, had almost perished herself. As the 
earthly streams and rills that fed her life congealed, 
she was led to accept of the love of God, and the 
long arctic winter of her despair passed gradually 
away. She was now growing young again. A faint 
bloom was dawning in her cheeks, and her form 
was gaining that fullness which is associated with 
the maturity of middle age. Her bright black eyes 
were the most attractive and expressive feature 
which she possessed, and they often seemed gifted 
with peculiar powers. 

As they beamed upon the young man they had 
much the same effect as the anthracite coals which 
glowed in the grate, and he began to be conscious 
of some disposition to give her his confidence. 

Having dismissed the servant with the lunch tray, 
she caused him to draw his chair sociably up to 
the fire, and said, without any circumlocution : 

** Mr. Haldane, perhaps this is the best time for 
us to have a frank talk in regard to the future.” 

The young man thought that this was the preface 
for some decided criticism of the past, and his face 
became a little hard and defiant. But in this he was 
mistaken, for the lady made no reference to his 
faults, of which she had been informed by his mother. 
She spoke in a kindly but almost in a business-like 
way of his duties in the counting-room, and of the 
domestic rules of the household, to which he would 
be expected to conform. She also spoke plainly of 


42 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

her husband’s inexorable requirement of system, re- 
gularity, and order, and dwelt upon the fact that aU 
in his employ conformed to this demand, and that 
it was the business-like and manly thing to do. 

“ This is your first venture out into the world, I 
understand,” she said, rising to intimate that their 
interview was over, “ and I greatly wish that it may 
lead toward a useful and successful career. I have 
spoken plainly because I wished you to realize just 
what you have undertaken, and thus meet with 
no unpleasant surprises or unexpected experiences. 
When one enters upon a course with his eyes open, 
he in a certain sense pledges himself to do the best 
he can in that line of duty, and our acquaintance, 
though so brief, has convinced me that you can do 
very well indeed.” 

“ I was under the impression,” said the young 
man, coloring deeply, “ that my mother’s letter had 
led you to suppose — to expect just the contrary.” 

Mr. Haldane,” said Mrs. Arnot, giving him her 
hand with graceful tact, ‘‘ I shall form my opinion 
of you solely on the ground of your own action, and 
I wish you to think of me as a friend who takes a 
genuine interest in your success. Good night.” 

He went to his room in quite a heroic and virtu- 
ous mood. 

‘‘ She does not treat me a bit like a ‘ bad boy,’ as 
I supposed she wDuld,” he thought ; “ but appears to 
take it for granted that I shall be a gentleman in 
this her house, and a sensible fellow in her husband’s 
office. Blow me if I disappoint her ! ’ 

Not did he for several weeks. Even Mr. Amot 


CHAINED TO AN ICEBERG. 


43 


was compelled to admit that it did “woik rather 
better than he expected," and that he “ supposed 
the young fellow did as well as he could." 

As the novelty of Haldane’s new relations wore 
off, however, and as his duties became so familiar as 
to be chiefly a matter of routine, the grave defects 
of his character and training began to show them- 
selves. The restraint of the counting-room grew 
irksome. Associations were formed in the city which 
tended toward his old evil habits. As a piece of Mr. 
Arnot’s machinery he did not move with the increas- 
ing precision that his employer required and expected 
on his becoming better acquainted with his duties. 

Mrs. Arnot had expected this, and knew that her 
husband would tolerate carelessness and friction only 
up to a certain point. She had gained more influ- 
ence over the young man than any one else had ever 
possessed, and by means of it kept him within 
bounds for some time ; but she saw from her hus- 
band’s manner that things were fast approaching a 
crisis. 

One evening she kindly, but frankly, told him of 
the danger in which he stood of an abrupt, stern dis- 
missal. 

He was more angry than alarmed, and during the 
following day about concluded that he would save 
himself any such mortification by leaving of his own 
accord. He quite persuaded himself that he had a 
soul above plodding business, and that, after enjoy- 
ing himself at home for a time, he could enter upon 
some other career, that promised more congeniality 
and renown. 


44 knight of the NINETEENTH CENTURY 

In order that his employer might not anticipate 
him, he performed his duties very accurately that 
day, but left the office with the expectation of never 
returning. 

He had very decided compunctions in thus requit- 
ing Mrs. Arnot’s kindness, but muttered recklessly : 

“ I’m tired of this humdrum, treadmill life, and 
believe I’m destined to better things. If I could 
only get a good position in the army or navy, the 
world would hear from me. They say money opens 
every door, and mother must open some good wide 
door for me.” 

Regardless now of his employer’s good or bad 
opinion, he came down late to supper ; but, instead 
of observing with careless defiance the frown which 
he knew lowered toward him, his eyes were drawn 
to a fair young face on the opposite sid^* of the 
table. 

Mrs. Arnot, in her pleasant, cordial voice, which 
made the simplest thing she said seem real and hearty, 
rather than conventional, introduced him : 

“ Mr. Haldane, my niece. Miss Laura Romeya 
Laura, no doubt, can do far more than an old lady to 
make your evenings pass brightly.” 

After a second glance of scrutiny, Haldane was so 
ungratefully forgetful of all Mrs. Arnot’s kindness as 
to be inclined to agree with her remark. 


IMMATURE. 


♦5 


CHAPTER IV. 

IMMATURE. 

“ TS she a young lady, or merely a school-girl?” 

-I- was Haldane’s query concerning the stranger 
sitting opposite to him ; and he addressed to her a 
few commonplace but exploring remarks. Regard- 
ing himself as well acquainted with society in gen 
eral, and young ladies in particular, he expected to 
solve the question at once, and was perplexed that 
he could not. He had flirted with several misses as 
immature as himself, and so thought that he was 
profoundly versed in the mysteries of the sex. 
“ They naturally lean toward and look up to men, 
and one is a fool, or else lacking in personal appear- 
ance, who does not have his own way with them,” 
was his opinion, substantially. 

Modesty is a grace which fine-looking young men 
of large wealth are often taught by some severe ex- 
periences, if it is ever learned. Haldane, as yet, 
had not received such wholesome depletion. His 
self-approval and assurance, moreover, were quite 
natural, since his mother and sisters had seldom lost 
an opportunity of developing and confirming these 
traits. The yielding of women to his will and wishes 
had been one of the most uniform experiences of his 


+6 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

life, and he had come to regard it as the natural 
order of things. Without formulating the thought in 
plain words, he nevertheless regarded Mrs. Arnot’s 
kindness, by which she sought to gain a helpful in- 
fluence over him, as largely due to some peculiar 
fascination of his own, which made him a favorite 
wherever he chose to be. Of course, the young 
stranger on the opposite side of the table would 
prove no exception to the rule, and all he had to do 
was to satisfy himself that she was sufficiently pretty 
and interesting to make it worth while to pay her a 
little attention. 

But for some reason she did not seem greatly im- 
pressed by his commonplace and rather patronizing 
remarks. Was it pride or dignity on her part, or 
was it mere girlish shyness ? It must be the latter, 
for there was no occasion for pride and dignity in 
her manner toward him. 

Then came the thought that possibly Mrs. Arnot 
had not tolc^her who he was, and that she looked 
upon him a& a mere clerk of low degree. To remove 
from her mind any such error, his tones and manner 
became still more self-asserting and patronizing. 

“If she has any sense at all,” he thought, “she 
shall see that I have peculiar claims to her respect.” 

As he proceeded in these tactics, there was a grow 
ing expression of surprise and a trace of indignation 
upon the young girl’s face. Mrs. Arnot watched the 
by-play with an amused expression. There was not 
much cynicism in her nature. She believed that ex- 
perience would soon prick the bubble of his vanity 
and it was her disposition to smile rather than to 


IMMA TURK. 


47 


sneer at absurdity in others. Besides, she was just. 
She never applied to a young man of twenty the 
standard by which she would measure those of her 
own age, and she remembered Haldane’s antece- 
dents. But Mr. Arnot went to his library mutter- 
ing, 

“ The ridiculous fool ! ” 

When Miss Romeyn rose from the table, Haldane 
saw that she was certainly tall enough to be a young 
lady, for she was slightly above medium height. He 
still believed that she was very young, however, for 
her figure was slight and girlish, and while her bear- 
ing was graceful it had not that assured and pro- 
nounced character to which he had been accustomed. 

“ She evidently has not seen much of society. 
Well, since she is not gawky, I like her better than 
if she were blasL Any thing but your blas^ girls,” he 
observed to himself, with a consciousness that he 
was an experienced man of the world. 

The piano stood open in the drawing-room, and 
this suggested music. Haldane hajd at his tongue’s 
end the names of half a dozen musicians whose pro- 
fessional titles had been prominent in the newspapers 
for a few months previous, and whose merits had 
formed a part of the current chit-chat of the day. 
Some he had heard, and others he had not, but he 
could talk volubly of all, and he asked Miss Romeyn 
for her opinion of one and another in a manner 
which implied that of course she knew about them, 
and that ignorance in regard to such persons was 
not to be expected. 

Her face colored with annoyance, but she said 


48 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

quietly and a trifle coldly that she had not heard 
them. 

Mrs. Arnot again smiled as she watched the young 
people, but she now came to her niece’s rescue, 
thinking also it would be well to disturb Haldane’s 
sense of superiority somewhat. So she said : 

Laura, since we cannot hear this evening the 
celebrated artists that Mr. Haldane has mentioned, 
we must content ourselves with simple home music. 
Won’t you play for us that last selection of which 
you wrote to n.e ? ” 

** I hardly dare, auntie, since Mr. Haldane is such 
a critical judge, and has heard so much music from 
those who make it a business to be perfect. He 
must have listened to the selection you name a hun- 
dred times, for it is familiar to most lovers of good 
music.” 

Haldane had sudden misgivings. Suppose he had 
not heard it ? This would be awkward, after his 
assumed acquaintance with such matters. 

“ Even if Mr. Haldane is familiar with it,” Mrs. 
Arnot replied, “ Steibelt’s Storm Rondo will bear 
repetition. Besides, his criticism may be helpful, 
since he can tell you wherein you come short of the 
skilled professionals.” 

Laura caught the twinkle in her aunt’s eye, and 
went to the piano. 

The young man saw at once that he had been 
caught in his own trap, for the music was utterly 
unfamiliar. The rondo was no wonderful piece of 
intricacy, such as a professional might choose. On 
the contrary, it was simple, and \uite within the 


IMMA TURK. 


49 


capabilities of a young and well-taught girl. But it 
was full of rich melody which even he, in his igno- 
rance, could understand and appreciate, and yet, for 
aught that he knew, it was difficult in the extreme. 

At first he had a decided sense of humiliation, and 
a consciousness that it was deserved. He had been 
talking largely and confidently of an art concerning 
which he knew little, and in which he began to think 
that his listener was quite well versed. 

But as the thought of the composer grew in power 
and beauty he forgot himself and his dilemma in his 
enjoyment. Two senses were finding abundant gra- 
tification at the same time, for it was a delight to 
listen, and it was even a greater pleasure to look at 
the performer. 

She gave him a quick, shy glance of observation, 
fearing somewhat that she might see severe judg- 
ment or else cool indifference in the expression of 
his face, and she was naturally pleased and encour- 
aged when she saw, instead, undisguised admira- 
tion. His previous manner had annoyed her, and 
she determined to show him that his superior airs 
were quite uncalled for. Thus the diffident girl was 
led to surpass herself, and infuse so much spirit and 
grace into her playing as to surprise even her aunt. 

Haldane was soon satisfied that she was more than . 
pretty — that she was beautiful. Her features, that 
had seemed too thin and colorless, flushed with ex- 
citement, and her blue eyes, which he had thought 
cold and expressionless, kindled until they became 
lustrous. He felt, in a way that he could not define 
to himself, that her face was full of power and mind, 

3 


50 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

and that she was different from the pretty girls who 
had hitherto been his favorites. 

As she rose from the piano he was mastered by 
one of those impulses which often served him in the 
place of something better, and he said impetuously : 

Miss Romeyn, I beg your pardon. You know 
a hundred-fold more about music than I do, and I 
have been talking as if the reverse were true. I 
never heard any thing so fine in my life, and I also 
confess that I never heard that piece before.” 

The young girl blushed with pleasure on having 
thus speedily vanquished this superior being, whom 
she had been learning both to dread and dislike. 
At the same time his frank, impulsive words of com- 
pliment did much to remove the prejudice which 
she was naturally forming against him. Mrs. Arnot 
said, with her mellow laugh, that often accomplished 
more than long homilies : 

‘‘ That is a manly speech, Egbert, and much to 
your credit. ^ Honest confession is good for the 
soul.’ ” 

Haldane did not get on his stilts again that even- 
ing, and before it was over he concluded that Miss 
Romeyn was the most charming young lady he had 
ever met, though, for some reason, she still permit- 
ted him to do nearly all the talking. She bade him 
good night, however, with a smile that was not un- 
kindly, and which was interpreted by him as being 
singularly gracious. 

By this time he had concluded that Miss Romeyn 
was a young lady par excellence; ” but it has already 
been shown that his judgment in most matters was 


IMMATURE, 


51 


not to be trusted. Whether she was a school-girl 
or a fully fledged young lady, a child or a woman, 
might have kept a closer observer than himself much 
longer in doubt. In truth, she was scarcely the one 
or the other, and had many of the characteristics of 
both. His opinion of her was as incorrect as that of 
himself. He was not a man, though he considered 
himself a superior one, and had attained to manly 
proportions. 

But there were wide differences in their imma- 
turity. She was forming under the guidance of a 
mother who blended firmness and judgment equally 
with love. Gentle blood was in her veins, and she 
had inherited many of her mother’s traits with her 
beauty. Her parents, however, believed that, even 
as the garden of Eden needed to be “ dressed and 
kept,” so the nature of their child required careful 
pruning, with repression here and development there. 
While the young girl was far from being faultless, 
fine traits and tendencies dominated, and, though as 
yet undeveloped, they were unfolding with the nat- 
uralness and beauty of a budding flower. 

In Haldane’s case evil traits were in the ascend- 
ant, and the best hope for him was that they as yet 
had not become confirmed. 

Who is this Mr. Haldane, auntie ? ” Laura asked 
on reaching her room. There was a slight trace of 
vexation in her tone. 

“He is the son of an old friend of mine. I have 
induced my husband to try to give him a business 
education. You do not like him.” 

“ I did not like him at all at first, but he improves 


52 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

a little on acquaintance. Is he a fair sample of your 
young men prot^g^s ? ” 

“ He is the least promising of any of them,” re- 
plied Mrs. Arnot, sitting down before the fire. 
Laura saw that her face had become shadowed with 
sadness and anxiety. 

You look troubled, auntie. Is he the cause? * 

‘‘ Yes.” 

** Are you very much interested in him ? ” 

“I am, Laura; very much, indeed. I cannot bear 
to give him up, and yet I fear I m.ust.” 

“ Is he a very interesting ‘ case ? ’ ” asked the 
young girl in some surprise. “ Mother often laugh- 
ingly calls the young men you are trying to coax 
to be good by your winning ways, ‘ cases.’ 1 don’t 
know much about young men, but should suppose 
that you had many under treatment much more in- 
teresting than he is.” 

“ Sister Fanny is always laughing at my hobby, and 
saying that, since I have no children of my own, I try 
to adopt every young man who will give me a chance. 
Perhaps if I try to carry out your mother’s figure, 
you will understand why I am so interested in this 
‘ case.’ If I were a physician and had charge of a 
good many patients, ought I not to be chiefly in- 
terested in those who were in the most critical and 
dangerous condition ? ” 

“ It would be just like you to be so, auntie, and I 
would not mind being quite ill myself if I could 
have you to take care of me. I hope the young 
men whom you * adopt ’ appreciate their privileges.” 

‘‘The trouble with most of us Laura is that we 


lAfMA TV RE. 


S3 


become wise too late in life. Young people are 
often their own worst enemies, and if you wish to do 
them good, you must do it, as it were, on the sly. 
If one tries openly to reform and guide them — if I 
should say plainly. Such and such are your faults ; 
such and such places and associations are full of 
danger — they would be angry or disgusted, or they 
would say I was blue and strait-laced, and had an 
old woman’s notions of what a man should be. I 
must coax them, as you say ; I must disguise my 
medicines, and apply my remedies almost without 
their knowing it. I also find it true in my practice 
that tonics and good wholesome diet are better than 
all moral drugs. It seems to me that if I can bring 
around these giddy young fellows refining, steady- 
ing, purifying influences, I can do them more good 
than if I lectured them. The latter is the easier 
way, and many take it. It would require but a few 
minutes to tell this young Haldane what his wise 
safe course must be if he would avoid shipwreck ; 
but I can see his face flush and lip curl at my hom- 
ily. And yet for weeks I have been angling for him, 
and I fear to no purpose. Your uncle may dis- 
charge him any day. It makes me very sad to say 
it, but if he goes home I think he will also go to 
ruin. Thank God for your good, wise mother, 
Laura. It is a great thing to be started right in 
life.” 

“ Then this young man has been started wrong? 

“ Yes, wrong indeed.” 

Is he so very bad, auntie?” Laura asked with a 
face full of serious, concern. 


54 KNTGHT OP THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

Mrs. Arnot smiled as she said, ** If you were a 
young society chit, you might think him ‘very nice, 
as their slang goes. He is good-looking and rich, 
and his inclination to be fast would be a piquant fact 
in his favor. He has done things which would seem 
to you very wrong indeed. But he is foolish and ill- 
trained rather than bad. He is a spoiled boy, and 
spoiled boys are apt to become spoiled men. I have 
told you all this partly because, having been your 
mother’s companion all your life, you are so old- 
fashioned that I can talk to you almost as I would 
to sister Fanny, and partly because I like to talk 
about my hobby.” 

A young girl naturally has quick sympathies, and 
all the influences of Laura’s life had been gentle 
and humane. Her aunt’s words speedily led her 
to regard Haldane as an “ interesting case,” a sor^* 
of fever patient who was approaching the crisis of 
his disease. Curling down on the floor, and leaning 
her arms on her aunt’s lap, she looked up with a face 
full of solicitude as she asked : 

“ And don’t you think you can save him ? Please 
don’t give up trying.” 

“ I like the expression of your face now,” said 
Mrs. Arnot, stroking the abundant tresses, that were 
falling loosely from the girl’s head, “ for in it I catch 
a glimpse of the divine image. Many think of God 
as looking down angrily and frowningly upon the 
foolish and wayward ; but I see in the solicitude of 
your face a faint reflection of the ‘ Not willing that 
any should perish ' which it ever seems to me is the 
expression of His.” 


IMMA TURE. 


55 


“ Laura,” said she abruptly, after a moment, “ did 
any one ever tell you that you were growing up very 
pretty ? ” 

‘‘ No, auntie,” said the girl, blushing and laugh- 
ing. 

** Mr. Haldane told you so this evening.” 

“ O auntie, you are mistaken ; he could not have 
been so rude.” 

“ He did not make a set speech to that effect, my 
dear, but he told you so by his eyes and manner, 
only you are such an innocent home child that you 
did not notice. But when you go into society you 
will be told this fact so often that you will be com- 
pelled to heed it, and will soon learn the whole lan- 
guage of flattery, spoken and unspoken. Perhaps I 
had better forewarn you a little, and so forearm you. 
What are you going to do with your beauty? ” 

‘‘ Why, auntie, how funny you talk ! What should 
I do with it, granting that it has any existence save 
in your fond eyes ? ” 

** Suppose you use it to make men better, instead 
of to make them merely admire you. One can't be 
a belle very long at best, and of all the querulous, 
discontented, and disagreeable people that I have 
met, superannuated belles, who could no longer ob- 
tain their revenue of flattery, were the worst. They 
were impoverished, indeed. If you do as I suggest, 
you will have much that is pleasant to think about 
when you come to be as old as I am. Perhaps you 
can do more for young Haldane than I can.” 

“ Now, auntie, what can I do ?” 

** That which nearly all women can do : be kind 


56 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

and winning ; make our safe, cozy parlor so attrac- 
tive that he will not go out evenings to places which 
tend to destroy him. You feel an interest in him; 
show it. Ask him about his business, and get him 
to explain it to you. Suggest that if you were a 
man you would like to master your work, and be- 
come eminent in it. Show by your manner and by 
words, if occasion offers, that you love and revere all 
that is sacred, pure, and Christian. Laura, innocent 
dove as you are, you know that many women be- 
guile men to ruin with smiles. Men can be beguiled 
from ruin with smiles. Indeed, I think multitudes 
are permitted to go to destruction because women 
are so unattractive, so absorbed in themselves and 
their nerves. If mothers and wives, maidens and 
old maids, would all commence playing the agree- 
able to the men of their household and circle, not 
for the sake of a few compliments, but for the pur 
pose of luring them from evil and making them bet- 
ter, the world would improve at once.*’ 

‘‘ I see, auntie,” said Laura, laughing ; “ you wish 
to administer me as a sugar-coated pill to your ‘ dif- 
ficult case.* ” 

A deep sigh was the only answer, and, looking up, 
Laura saw that her words had not been heeded. 
Tears were in her aunt’s eyes, and after a moment 
she said brokenly : 

My theories seem true enough, and yet how sig- 
nally I have failed in carrying them out I Perhaps 
it is my fault ; perhaps it is my fault ; but IVe tried 
^oh! how I have tried! Laura, dear, you know 
that I am a lonely woman ; but do not let this pre- 


IMMA TURk. 


57 


judice you .against what I have said. Good night, 
dear ; I have kept you up too long after your jour- 
ney.” 

Her niece understood her allusion to the cold, un- 
loving man who sat alone every evening in his dim 
library, thinking rarely of his wife, but often of her 
wealth, and how it might increase his leverage in his 
herculean labors. The young girl had the tact to 
reply only by a warm, lingering embrace. It was 
an old sorrow, of which she had long been aware ; 
but it seemed without remedy, and was rarely touch- 
ed upon. 


58 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


CHAPTER V. 
passion’s clamor 

L aura had a strong affection for her aunt, and 
would naturally be inclined to gratify any 
wishes that she might express, even had they in- 
volved tasks uncongenial and unattractive. But the 
proposal that she should become an ally in the effort 
to lure young Haldane from his evil associations, and 
awaken within him pure and refined tastes, was de- 
cidedly attractive. She was peculiarly romantic in 
her disposition, and no rude contact with the com- 
mon-place, common-sense world had chastened her 
innocent fancies by harsh and disagreeable experi- 
ence. Her Christian training and girlish simplicity 
lifted her above the ordinary romanticism of imagin- 
ing herself the heroine in every instance, and the 
object and end of all masculine aspirations. On this 
occasion she simply desired to act the part of a hum- 
ble assistant of Mrs. Arnot, whom she regarded as 
Haldane’s good angel ; and she was quite as disin 
terested in her hope for the young man’s moral im- 
provement as her aunt herself. 

The task, moreover, was doubly pleasing since she 
could perform it in a way that was so womanly and 
agreeable. She could scarcely have given Haldane 


PASSIO^T'S CLAMOR. 


59 


a plain talk on the evils of fast living to save her 
life, but if she could keep young men from going to 
destruction by smiling upon them, by games of back- 
gammon and by music, she felt in the mood to be a 
missionary all her life, especially if she could have so 
safe and attractive a field of labor as her aunt’s back 
parlor. 

But the poor child would soon learn that perverse 
human nature is much the same in a drawing-room 
and a tenement-house, and that all who seek to im- 
prove it are doomed to meet much that is exces- 
sively annoying and discouraging. 

The simple-hearted girl no more foresaw what 
might result from her smiles than an ignorant child 
would anticipate the consequences of fire falling on 
grains of harmless-looking black sand. She had 
never seen passion kindling and flaming till it seemed 
like a scorching fire, and had not learned by experi- 
ence that in some circumstances her smiles might 
be like incendiary sparks to powder. 

In seeking to manage her “ difficult case,” Mrs. 
Arnot should have foreseen the danger of employing 
such a fascinating young creature as her assistant; 
but in these matters the wisest often err, and only 
comprehend the evil after it has occurred. Laura 
was but a child in years, having passed her fifteenth 
birthday only a few months previous, and Haldane 
seemed to the lady scarcely more than a boy. She 
did not intend .that her niece should manifest any 
thing more than a little winning kindness and interest, 
barely enough to keep the young fellow from spending 
his evenings out she knew not where. He was at just 


eo KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURA 

the age when the glitter and tinsel of public amuse- 
ments are most attractive. She believed that if she 
could familiarize his mind with the real gold and 
clear diamond flash of pure home pleasures, and 
those which are enjoyed in good society, he would 
eventually become disgusted with gilt, varnish, and 
paste. If Laura had been a very plain girl, she 
might have seconded Mrs. Arnot’s efforts to the ut- 
most without any unpleasant results, even if no good 
ones had followed ; and it may well be doubted 
whether any of the latter would have ensued. Hal- 
dane’s disease was too deeply rooted, and his tastes 
vitiated to such a degree that he had lost the power 
to relish long the simple enjoyments of Mrs. Arnot’s 
parlor. He already craved the pleasures which first 
kindle and excite and then consume. 

Laura, however, was not plain and ordinary, and 
the smiles which were intended as innocent lures 
from snares, instead of into them, might make 
trouble for all concerned. Haldane was naturally 
combustible, to begin with, and was now at the most 
inflammable period of his life. 

The profoundest master of human nature por- 
trayed to the world a Romeo and a Juliet, both mas- 
tered by a passion which but a few words and glances 
had kindled. There are many Romeos who do not 
find their Juliets so sympathetic and responsive, and 
they usually develop at about the age of Haldane. 
Indeed, nearly all young men of sanguine tempera- 
ments go through the Romeo stage, and they are 
fortunate if they pass it without doing any thing 
especially ridiculous or disastrous. These sudden 


FASSION^S CLAMOR. 


6x 


attacks are exceedingly absurd to older and cooler 
friends, but to the victims themselves they are tre- 
mendously real and tragic for the time being. More 
hearts are broken into indefinite fragments before 
twenty than ever after ; but, like the broken bones of 
the young, they usually knit readily together again, 
and are just as good for all practical purposes. 

There was nothing unusual in the fact, therefore 
that Haldane was soon deeply enamored with his 
new acquaintance. It was true that Laura had 
given him the mildest and most innocent kind of en 
couragement — and the result would probably have 
been the same if she had given him none at all — but 
his vanity, and what he chose to regard as his “ un- 
dying love," interpreted all her actions, and gave 
volumes of meaning to a kindly glance or a pleasant 
word. Indeed, before there had been time to carry 
out, to any extent, the tactics her aunt had proposed, 
symptoms of his malady appeared. While she was 
regarding him merely as one of her aunt’s cases," 
and a very hard one at best, and thought of herself 
as trying to help a little, as a child might hold a 
bandage or a medicine phial for experienced hands, 
he, on the contrary, had begun to mutter to himself 
that she was “ the divinest woman God ever fash- 
ioned." 

There was now no trouble about his spending 
evenings elsewhere, and the maiden was perplexed 
and annoyed at finding her winning ways far too 
successful, and that the one she barely hoped to 
keep from the vague — and to her mind, horrible — 
places of temptation, was becoming as adhesive as 


62 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

sticking-plaster. If she smiled, he smiled and ogled 
far too much in return. If she chatted with one and 
another of the young men who found Mrs. Arnot’s 
parlor the most attractive place open to them in the 
town, he would assume a manner designed to be 
darkly tragical, but which to the young girl had more 
the appearance of sulking. 

She was not so much of a child as to be unable to 
comprehend Haldane’s symptoms, and she was suffi- 
ciently a woman not to be excessively angry. And 
yet she was greatly annoyed and perplexed. At 
times his action seemed so absurd that she was glad 
to escape to her room, that shf might give way to 
her merriment ; and again he wcruld appear so much 
in earnest that she was quite as inclined to cry and 
to think seriously of bringing her visit to an abrupt 
termination. 

While under Mrs. Arnot’s eye Haldane was dis- 
tant and circumspect, but the moment he was alone 
with Laura his manner became unmistakably demon- 
strative. 

At first she was disposed to tell her aunt all about 
the young man’s sentimental manner, but the fact 
that it seemed so ridiculous deterred her. She still 
regarded herself as a child, and that any one should 
be seriously in love with her after but a few days* 
acquaintance seemed absurdity itself. Her aunt 
might think her very vain for even imagining such 
a thirg, and, perhaps, after all it was only her own 
imagination. 

‘‘ Mr. Haldane has acted queerly from the first,” 
she concluded, “ and the best thing I can do is to 


PASSION*S CLAMOR. 


63 

think no more about him, and let auntie manage her 
* difficult case ' without me. If I am to help in these 
matters, I had better commence with a ‘ case ’ that is 
not so ‘ difficult.’ ” 

She therefore sought to avoid the young man, 
and prove by her manner that she was utterly indif- 
ferent to him, hoping that this course would speedily 
cure him of his folly. She would venture into the 
parlor only when her aunt or guests were there, and 
would then try to make herself generally agreeable, 
without an apparent thought for him. 

While she assured herself that she did not like 
him, and that he was in no respect a person to be 
admired and liked, she still found herself thinking 
about him quite often. He was her first recognized 
lover. Indeed, few had found opportunity to give 
more than admiring glances to the little nun, who 
thus far had been secluded almost continuously in 
the safest of all cloisters — a country home, It was 
a decided novelty that a young man, almost six feet 
in height, should be looking unutterable things in 
her direction whenever she was present. She wished 
he wouldn’t, but since he would, she could not help 
thinking about him, and how she could manage to 
make him “ behave sensibly.” 

She did not maintain her air of indifference very 
perfectly, however, for she had never been schooled 
by experience, and was acting solely on the intui- 
tions of her sex. She could not forbear giving a 
quick glance occasionally to see how he was taking 
his lesson. At times he was scowling and angry, 
and then she could maintain her part without diffi- 


64 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

culty ; again he would look so miserable that, out of 
pity, she would relent into a half smile, but imme- 
diately reproach herself for being “ so foolish.” 

Haldane’s manner soon attracted Mrs. Arnot’s 
attention, notwithstanding his effort to disguise 
from her his feeling ; and a little observation on the 
part of the experienced matron enabled her to guess 
how matters stood. While Mrs. Arnot was per- 
plexed and provoked by this new complication in 
Haldane’s case, she was too kindly in her nature not 
to feel sorry for him. She was also so well versed 
in human nature as to be aware that she could not 
sit down and coolly talk him out of his folly. 

Besides it was not necessarily folly. The youth 
was but following a law of nature, and following it, 
too, in much the same manner as had his fathers 
before him since the beginning of time. There would 
not be any thing essentially wrong in an attachment 
between these young people, if it sprang up natur- 
ally ; only it would be necessary to impress upon 
them the fact that they were youngs and that for 
years to come their minds should be largely occupied 
with other matters. Haldane certainly would not 
have been her choice for Laura, but if a strong at 
tachment became the means of steadying him and 
of inciting to the formation of a fine character, all 
might be well in the end. She was morbidly anxious, 
however, that her niece should not meet with any 
such disappointment in life as had fallen to her lot, 
and should the current of the young girl’s affec- 
tion tend steadily in his direction she would deeply 
regret the fact. 


PASSION'S CL AMO P. 


65 

She would regret exceedingly, also, to have the 
young girl’s mind occupied by thoughts of such a 
nature for years to come. Her education was unfin- 
ished ; she was very immature, and should not make 
so important a choice until she had seen much more 
of society, and time had been given for the formation 
of her tastes and character. 

Mrs. Arnot soon concluded that it would be wiser 
to prevent trouble than to remedy it, and that 
Laura had better return speedily to the safe asylum 
of her own home. She could then suggest to Hal- 
dane that if he hoped to win the maiden in after 
years he must form a character worthy of her. 

Had she carried out her plan that day all might 
have turned out differently, but the advanced in life 
are prone to forget the impetuosity of youth. Hal- 
dane was already ripe for a declaration, or, more 
properly, an explosion of his pent-up feelings, and 
was only awaiting an opportunity to insist upon his 
own acceptance. He was so possessed and absorbed 
by his emotions that he felt sure they would sweep 
away all obstacles. He imagined himself pleading his 
cause in a way that would melt a marble heart ; and 
both vanity and hope had whispered that Laura was 
a shy maiden, secretly responsive to his passion, and 
only awaiting his frank avowal before showing her 
own heart. Else why had she been so kind^’at first? 
Having won his love, was she not seeking now to 
goad him on to its utterance by a sudden change 
of manner? 

Thus he reasoned, as have many others equally 
blind. 


66 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

On becoming aware of Haldane s passion, Mrs 
A.rnot resolved to sedulously guard her niece, and 
prevent any premature and disagreeable scenes. She 
was not long in discovering that the feeling, as yet, 
was all on the young man’s side, and believed that 
by a little adroitness she could manage the affair so 
that no harm would result to either party. 

But on the day following the one during which 
she had arrived at the above conclusions she felt 
quite indisposed, and while at dinner was obliged to 
succumb to one of her nervous headaches. Before 
retiring to her private room she directed the waitress 
to say to such of her young friends as might call that 
she was too ill to see them. 

Haldane’s expressions of sympathy were hollow, 
indeed, for he hoped that, as a result of her indispo- 
sition, he would have Laura all to himself that even- 
ing. With an insinuating smile he said to the young 
girl, after her aunt had left the table, 

“ I shall expect you to be very agreeable this 
evening, to compensate me for Mrs. Arnot’s ab- 
sence.” 

Laura blushed vividly, and was provoked with 
herself that she did so, but she replied quietly, 

“ You must excuse me this evening, Mr. Haldane ; 
1 am sure my aunt wil) need me.” 

His srdile was succeeded by a sudden frown ; but, 
as Mr. Arnot was at the table, he said, with assumed 
carelessness, 

“ Then I will go out and try to find amusement 
elsewhere.” 

“ It might be well, young man,” said Mr. Arnot 


PASSION^S CLAMOR. 


67 


austerely, “ to seek for something else than amuse- 
ment. When I was at your age I so invested my 
evenings that they now tell in my business.’* 

I am willing to invest this evening in a way to 
make it tel! upon my future,” replied Haldane, with 
a meaning glance at Laura. 

Mr. Arnot observed this glance and the blushing 
face of his niece, and drew his own conclusions ; but 
he only said dryly, 

“ That remark is about as inexplicable as some of 
your performances at the office of late.” 

Laura soon after excused herself and sought a re- 
fuge in her aunt’s room, which, being darkened, pre- 
vented the lady from seeing her burning cheeks and 
general air of vexation and disquiet. Were it not 
for Mrs. Arnot’s suffering condition and need of rest, 
Laura would then have told her of her trouble and 
asked permission to return home, and she deter- 
mined to do this at the first opportunity. Now, 
however, she unselfishly forgot herself in her effort 
to alleviate her aunt’s distress. With a strong sense 
of relief she heard Haldane go out, slamming the 
front door after him. 

“ Was there ever such an absurd fellow ! ” thought 
she “ he has made himself disagreeable ever since 
1 came, with his superior airs, as if he knew every 
thing, when, in fact, he doesn’t know any thing well, 
not even good manners. He acts as if I belonged 
to him and had no right to any will or wishes of my 
own. If he can’t take the hints that I have given 
he must be as stupid and blind as an owl. In spite 
of all that I can do or say he seems to think that I 


68 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

only want an opportunity to show the same ridicu- 
lous feeling that makes him appear like a simpleton. 
If I were a young lady in society I should detest a 
man who took it for granted that I would fall in 
love with him.'’ 

With like indignant musings she beguiled the 
time, wondering occasionally why her aunt did not 
ask her to go down and entertain the object of her 
dread, but secretly thankful that she did not. 

At last Mrs. Arnot said : 

Mr. Haldane went out, did he not ?” 

“Yes, auntie, some time ago.” 

“ I left my other bottle of smelling-salts in the 
parlor. I think it is stronger than this. Would 
you mind getting it for me ? It’s on the man- 
tel.” 

Laura had no difficulty in finding it in the some- 
what dimly-lighted drawing-room, but as she turned 
to leave the apartment she saw Haldane between 
her and the door. 

Before he had reached any of his garish haunts he 
had felt such an utter distaste for, them in his pres- 
ent mood that he returned. He was conscious of 
the impulse merely to be near the object of his 
thoughts, and also hoped that by some fortunate 
chance he might still be able to find her alone. 
That his return might be unnoted, he had quietly 
entered a side door, and was waiting and watching 
for just such an opportunity as Mrs. Arnot had unwit- 
tingly occasioned. 

Laura tried to brush past, but he intercepted her, 
and said ; 


PASSION'S CIA MOP. 69 

“ No, Miss Laura, not till you hear me. You 
have my destiny in your hands.'* 

“ I haven’t any thing of the kind,” she answered, 
in tones of strong vexation. Guided by instinct, 
she resolved to be as prosaic and matter-of-fact as 
possible ; so she added : “ I have only aunt’s smell- 
ing-salts in my hands, and she needs them.” 

“ I need j'ou far more than Mrs. Arnot needs her 
smelling-salts,” he said tragically. 

Mr. Haldane, such talk is very absurd,” she re- 
plied, half ready to cry from nervousness and annoy- 
ance. 

** It is not absurd. How can you trifle with the 
deepest and holiest feelings that a man — of which 
a man — feels?” he retorted passionately, and grow- 
ing a little incoherent. 

“ I don’t know any thing about such feelings, and 
therefore cannot trifle with them.” 

** What did your blushes mean this evening ? You 
cannot deceive me; I have seen the world and know it.” 

“ I am not the world. I am only a school-girl, 
and if you had good sense you would not talk so to 
me. You appear to think that I must feel and do 
as you wish. What right have you to act so ? ” 

“ The truest and strongest right. You know well 
that I love you with my whole soul. I have given 
you my heart — all there is of me. Have I not a 
right to ask your love in return ? ” 

Laura was conscious of a strange thrill as she 
heard these passionate words, for they appeared to 
echo in a depth of her nature of which she had not 
been conscious before. 


70 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

The strong and undoubting assurance which pos- 
sessed him carried for a moment a strange mastery 
over her mind. As he so vehemently asserted the 
only claim which a man can urge, her woman’s 
soul trembled, and for a moment she felt almost 
powerless to resist. His unreserved giving appeared 
to require that he should receive also. She would 
have soon realized, however, that Haldane’s attitude 
was essentially that of an Oriental lover, who, in his 
strongest attachments, is ever prone to maintain 
the imperative mood, and to consult his own heart 
rather than that of the woman he loves. While in 
Laura’s nature, there was unusual gentleness and a 
tendency to respect and admire virile force, she was 
too highly bred in our Western civilization not to 
resent as an insult any such manifestation of this force 
as would make the quest of her love a demand rather 
than a suit, after once recognizing such a spirit. 
She was now confused however, and after an awk- 
ward moment said, 

“ I have not asked or wished you to give me so 
much. I don’t think you realize what you are say- 
ing. If you would only remember that I am scarcely 
more than a child you would not talk so foolishly. 
Please let me goto my aunt.” 

‘‘No, not till you give me some hope. Your 
blushes prove that you are a woman.” 

“ They prove that I am excessively annoyed and 
vexed.” 

“ O, Laura, after raising so many hopes you can- 
not — you cannot — ” 

“ I haven’t meant to raise any hopes.” 


PASSION'S CLAMOR. 


7 > 

** Why were you so kind to me at first ? 

Well, if you must know, my aunt wished me to 
be. If I had dreamed you would act so I would not 
have spoken to you.” 

“ What motive could Mrs. Arnot have had for 
such a request ? ” 

‘‘ I will tell you, and when you know the whole 
truth you will see how mistaken you are, and how 
greatly you wrong me. Aunt wanted me to help her 
keep you home evenings, and away from all sorts 
of horrid places to which you were fond of going.” 

These words gave Haldane a cue which he at once 
followed, and he said eagerly ; 

If you will be my wife, I will do any thing you 
wish. I will make myself good, great, and renown- 
ed for your sake. Your smiles will keep me from 
every temptation. But I warn you that if you cast me 
off — if you trifle with me — I shall become a reckless 
man. I shall be ruined. My only impulse will be 
self-destruction.” 

Laura was now thoroughly incensed, and she said 
indignantly : 

“ Mr. Haldane, I should think you would be 
ashamed to talk in that manner. It’s the same as if 
a spoiled boy should say : If you don’t give me what 
I wish, right or wrong, I will do something dreadful. 
If I ever do love a man, it will be one that I can 
look up to and respect, and not one who must be 
coaxed and bribed to give up disgusting vices. If 
you do not open that door I will call uncle.” 

The door opened, and Mr. Arnot entered with a 
heavy frown upon his brow. 


72 KmGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


CHAPTER VI. 

GLOOMY GRANDEUR.” 

M r. ARNOT’S library was on the side of the 
hall opposite to the drawing-room. Though 
he had been deeply intent upon his writing, he at last 
became conscious that there were some persons in 
the parlor who were talking in an unusual manner, 
and he soon distinguished the voice of his niece. 
Haldane’s words, manner, and glances at the dinner 
table at once recurred to him, and stepping silently 
to the drawing-room door, he heard the latter part 
of the colloquy narrated in the previous chapter. 
He was both amused and angry, and while relieved 
to find that his niece was indulging in no “ senti- 
mental nonsense,” he had not a particle of sympa- 
thy or charity for Haldane, and he determined to 
give the young man a “ lesson that would not soon be 
forgotten,” 

What is the meaning of this ridiculous scene? ” 
he demanded sternly. What have you been say- 
ing to this child?” 

Haldane at first had been much abashed by the 
entrance of his employer ; but his tone and manner 
stung the young fellow into instant anger, and he re- 
plied haughtily : 


GLOOMY GRANDEUR. 


73 


** She is not a child, and what I have said con- 
cerns Miss Romeyn only.” 

“ Ah I inded ! I have no right to protect my niece 
in my own house ! ” 

** My intentions toward Miss Romeyn are entirely 
honorable, and there is no occasion for protection.* 

Reassured by her uncle s presence, Laura’s ner 
vous apprehension began to give place to something 
like pity for the youth, who had assumed an atti- 
tude befitting high tragedy, and toward whom she 
felt that she had been a little harsh. Now that he was 
confronted by one who was disposed to be still more 
harsh, womanlike, she was inclined to take his part. 
She would be sorry to have him come to an open 
rupture with his employer on her account, so she 
said eagerly, 

“ Please, uncle, do me the favor of letting the whole 
matter drop. Mr. Haldane has seen his mistake by 
this time. I am going home to-morrow, and the af- 
fair is too absurd to make any one any more trouble.” 

Before he could answer, Mrs. Arnot, hearing their 
voices, and surmising the trouble which she had 
hoped to prevent, now appeared also, and by her 
good sense and tact brought the disagreeable scene 
to a speedy close. 

“ Laura, my dear,” she said quietly, go up to 
my room, and I will join you there soon.” The 
young girl gladly obeyed. 

There were times when Mrs. Arnot controlled her 
strong-willed husband in a manner that seemed 
scarcely to be reconciled with his dictatorial habits. 
This fact might be explained in part by her wealth, 
4 


74 knight of the nineteenth century. 

of which he had the use, but ^\hich she still controlled, 
but more truly by her innate superiority, which ever 
gives supremacy to the nobler and stronger mind 
when aroused. 

Mr Arnot had become suddenly and vindictively 
angry with his clerk, who, instead of being over- 
whelmed with awe and shame at his unexpected ap- 
pearance, was haughty and even defiant. One of 
the strongest impulses of this man was to crush out 
of those in his employ a spirit of independence and 
individual self-assertion. The idea of a part of his 
business machinery making such a jarring tumult in 
his own house ! He proposed to instantly cast away 
the cause of friction, and insert a more stolid human 
cog-wheel in Haldane’s place. 

But when his wife said, in a tone which she rarely 
used, 

“ Mr. Arnot, before any thing further is said upon 
this matter, I would like to see you in your library ” 
— he followed her without a word. 

Before the library door closed, however, he could 
not forbear snarling, 

“ I told you that your having this big spoiled boy 
as an inmate of the house would not work well.” 

“ He has been offering himself to Laura, has he 
not ? ” she said quietly, 

I suppose that is the way in which you would 
explain his absurd, maudlin words. A pitiful offer it 
was, which she, like a sensible girl, declined without 
thanks.” 

** What course do you propose to take toward 
Haldane?” 


GLOOMY GRANDEUR. 


75 


* I was on the point of sending him home to his 
mother, and of suggesting that he remain with her 
till he becomes something more than a fast, foolish 
boy. As yet I see no reason for acting differently.” 

“ On just what grounds do you propose to dis- 
charge him? ” 

“ Has he not given sufficient cause this evening in 
his persecution of Laura and his impudence to me ? ” 

“ Thomas, you forget that while young Haldane 
is your clerk, he enjoys a social position quite equal 
to that which a son of ours would possess, did we 
have one. Though his course toward Laura has 
been crude and boyish, I have yet to learn that there 
has been any thing dishonorable. Laura is to us a 
•child ; to him she seems a very pretty and attractive 
girl, and his sudden passion for her is, perhaps, one of 
the most natural things in the world. Besides, an af- 
fair of this kind should be managed quietly and wise- 
ly, and not with answering passion. You are angry 
now ; you will see that I am right in the morning 
At all events, the name of this innocent girl, my 
sister’s child, must not be bandied about in the gossip 
of the town. Among young men Haldane passes 
for a young man. Do you wish to have it the town 
talk that he has been discharged because he ven- 
tured to compliment your niece with the offer of his 
hand ? That he has been premature and rash is 
chiefly the fault of his years and temperament ; but 
no serious trouble need follow unless we make it 
ourselves. Laura will return home in a day or two, 
and if the young fellow is dealt with wisely and 
kindly, this episode may do much toward making a 


76 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

sensible man of him. If you abruptly discharge him 
people will imagine tenfold more than has occurred, 
and they may surmise positive evil." 

“Well, well, have it your own way," said her hus- 
band impatiently. “ Of course, I do not wish that 
Laura should become the theme of scandal. But as 
for this young firebrand of a Haldane, there must be 
a decided change in him. I cannot bother with him 
much longer." 

“ I think I can manage him. At any rate, please 
make no change that can seem connected with this 
affair. If you would also exercise a little kindness 
and forbearance, I do not think you would ever have 
cause to regret it." 

“ My office is not an asylum for incapables, love-i 
sick swains, and fast boys. It’s a place of business, 
and if young Haldane can’t realize this, there are 
plenty who can." 

“ As a favor to me, I will ask you to bear with 
him as long as possible. Can you not send him to 
your factory near New York on some errand ? New 
scenes will divert his thoughts, and sudden and acute 
attacks, like his, usually do not last very long." 

“ Well, well. I’ll see." 

Mrs. Arnot returned to the parlor, but Haldane 
was no longer there. She went to his room, but, 
though he was within, she could obtain no response 
to her knocking, or to the kind tone in which she 
spoke his name. She sighed, but thought that per- 
haps he would be calmer and more open to reason 
on the morrow, and, therefore, returned to her own 
apartment. Indeed, she was glad to do so, for in 


GLOOMY GRANDEUR. 


77 


her ill and suffering condition the strain had already 
been too great. 

She found Laura tearful and troubled, and could 
not do less than listen to her story. 

“ Do you think I have done any thing wrong, 
auntie ? ” asked the girl in deep anxiety. 

** No, dear, I think you have acted very sensibly. 
I wish I could have foreseen the trouble sooner, and 
saved you both from a disagreeable experience.” 

“ But uncle won’t discharge Mr. Haldane on my 
account, will he ? ” she continued with almost equal 
solicitude. 

“ Certainly not. Egbert has not done any thing 
that should cause his dismissal. I think that the 
only result will be to teach you both that these are 
matters which should be left to future years.” 

** I’m glad they are distant, for I had no idea that 
love affairs were so intensely disagreeable.” 

Her aunt smiled, and after a little tiiiae the young 
girl departed to her rest quite comforted and reas- 
sured. , 

The next morning Mrs. Arnot was too ill to ap- 
pear at breakfast, and her niece would not venture 
down alone. Haldane and his employer sat down to- 
gether in grim silence, and, after a cup of coffee only, 
the former abruptly excused himself and went to the 
office. 

As might have been expected, the young man had 
passed a restless night, during which all sorts of rash, 
wild purposes surged through his mind. At first he 
meditated hiding his grief and humiliation in some 
** far distant clime ; ” but the thought occurred to 


78 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

him after a little time that this would be spiting him- 
self more than any one else. His next impulse was 
to leave the house of his insulting employer ” for- 
ever ; but as he was about to depart, he remembered 
that he happened to have scarcely a dollar ir his 
pocket, and therefore concluded to wait till he had 
drawn his pay, or could write to his mother for 
funds. Then, as his anger subsided, a sense of loss 
and disappointment overwhelmed him, and for along 
time he sobbed like a broken-hearted child. After 
this natural expression of grief he felt better, and 
became able to think connectedly. He finally re- 
solved that he would become “ famous,” and rise in 
“ gloomy grandeur ” till he towered far above his 
fellow men. He would pierce this obdurate maid- 
en’s heart with poignant but unavailing regret that 
she had missed the one great opportunity of her life. 
He gave but slight and vague consideration to the 
methods by which he would achieve the renown 
which would overshadow Laura’s life ; but, having 
resolutely adopted the purpose with a few tragic 
gestures and some obscure fragmentary utterances, 
he felt consoled and was able to obtain a little sleep. 

The routine duties at the office on the following 
day did not promise very much, but he went through 
them in a kind of grim, vindictive manner, as if re- 
solving to set his foot on all obstacles. He would 
** suffer in silence and give no sign ” till the hour 
came when he could flash out upon the world. 
But as the day declined, he found the rdle of “ gloomy 
grandeur ” rather heavy, and he became conscious 
of the fact that he had scarcely eaten any thing for 


GLOOMY GRANDEUR. 


79 


nearly twenty-four hours. Another impulse began 
to make itself felt — that of fulfilling his threat and 
torturing Miss Romeyn by going to ruin. With al- 
luring seductiveness the thought insinuated itself 
into his mind that.one of the first steps in the trage- 
dy might be a game and wine supper, and his grow- 
ing hunger made this mode of revenge more attrac- 
tive than cold and austere ambition. 

But Laura’s words concerning disgusting vices ” 
recurred to him with all and more than their first 
stinging plainness, and he put the impulse away 
with a gesture and tragic expression of face that 
struck a sere and withered book-keeper, who hap- 
pened at that moment to look up, as so queer 
that he feared the young man was becoming de- 
mented. 

Haldane concluded — and with some reason in 
view of Laura’s romantic nature — that only a ca- 
reer of gloomy grandeur and high renown would im- 
press the maiden whom yesterday he proposed to 
make happy forever, but to-day to blight with regret 
like a “ worm i’ the bud.” He already had a vague 
presentiment that such a role would often mortify 
his tastes and inclinations most dismally ; and yet, 
what had he henceforth to do with pleasure ? But 
if, after he had practiced the austerity of an ancho- 
rite, she should forget him, marry another, and be 
happy ! the thought was excruciating. O, that 
awful another ” ! He is the fiend that drags disap- 
pointed lovers down to the lowest depth of their 
tortures. If Laura had had a previous favorite, 
Haldane would have been most happy to have her 


8o KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

meet “ another ” in himself ; but now this vague but 
surely coming rival of the future sent alternately 
cold chills and molten fire through his veins. 

He was awakened from such painful reveries by a 
summons to his employer’s private office. 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


8l 


CHAPTER VII. 

BIRDS OF PREY. 

M r. ARNOT in his widely extended business 
owned several factories, and in the vicinity 
of one, located at a suburb of New York, there were 
no banking facilities. It was, therefore, his custom 
at stated times to draw from his bank at Hillaton 
such amounts in currency as were needed to pay 
those in his employ at the place indicated, and send 
the money thither by one of his clerks. Upon the 
present occasion, in compliance with his wife’s re- 
quest, he decided to send Haldane. He had no 
hesitation in doing this, as the errand was one that 
required nothing more than honesty and a little 
prudence. 

“ Mr. Haldane,” said his employer, in tones some- 
what less cold and formal than those habitual with 
him, “ we will let bygones be bygones. I am in- 
clined to think that hereafter you will be disposed 
to give your thoughts more fully to business, as a 
man should who proposes to amount to any thing 
in the world. In these envelopes are one thousand 
dollars in currency. I wish you to place them se- 
curely in your breast-pockets, and take the five- 
tliirty train to New York, and .from thence early to 
4 


82 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

morrow go out on the Long Island road to a little 
station called Arnotville, and give these packages to 
Mr Black, the agent in charge of my factory there. 
Taice his receipt, and report to me to-morrow even- 
ing With that amount of money upon your per- 
son you will perceive the necessity of prudence and 
care. Here is a check paying your salary for the 
past month. The cashier will give you currency for it. 
Report your expenses on your return, and they will 
be paid. As the time is limited, perhaps you can'get 
some lunch at or near the depot.” 

“ I prefer to do so,” said Haldane, promptly, “ and 
will try to perform the business to your satisfaction.” 

Mr. Arnot nodded a cool dismissal, and Haldane 
started for a hotel-restaurant near the depot with a 
step entirely too quick and elastic for one who must 
walk henceforth in the shadow of “ bitter memories 
and dark disappointment.” The exercise brought 
color to his cheek, and there certainly was a sparkle 
in his dark eyes. It could not be hope, for he had 
assured himself again and again that hope was dead 
in his heart.” It might have been caused after his 
long fast by the anticipation of a lunch at the depot 
and a petit souper in the city, and the thought of 
washing both down with a glass of wine, or possibly 
with several. The relish and complacency with which 
Jiis mind dwelt on this prospect struck Haldane as 
rather incongruous in a being as blighted as he sup- 
posed himself to be. With his youth, health, and 
unusually good digestion he would find no little 
difficulty in carrying out the “gloomy grandeur” 
scheme, and he began to giow conscious of the fact. 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


83 

Indeed, in response to a law of nature, he was 
already inclined to react from his unwonted depres- 
sion into reckless hilarity. Impulse and inclination 
were his controlling forces, and he was accustomed to 
give himself up to them without much effort at self- 
restraint. And yet he sought to imagine himself con- 
sistent, so that he could maintain his self-approval. 

“ I will hide my despair with laughter,” he mut- 
tered ; “ the world cannot know that it is hollow, and 
but a mask against its vulgar curiosity.” 

A good cold lunch and a cup of coffee — which he 
could have obtained at once at the hotel near the 
depot — would not answer for this victim of despair. 
Some extra delicacies, which required time for prep- 
aration, were ordered. In the meantime he went 
to the bar for an “ appetizer,” as he termed it. Here 
he met an acquaintance among the loungers present, 
and, of course, asked him to take a social glass also. 
This personage complied in a manner peculiarly feli- 
citous, and in such a way as to give the impression 
that his acceptance of the courtesy was a compli- 
ment to Haldane. Much practice had made him 
perfect in this art, and the number of drinks that he 
was able to secure gratis in the course of a year by 
being always on hand and by maintaining an air of 
slight superiority, combined with an appearance of 
bonhomie and readiness to be social, would have 
made a remarkable sum total. 

Before their glasses clinked together he said, with 
the off-handed courtesy indigenous to bar-rooms, 
where acquaintances are made with so little trouble 
and ceremony : 


84 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

“ Mr. Haldane, my friends from New York, Mn 
Van Wink and Mr. Ketchem.” 

Haldane turned and saw two young men standing 
conveniently near, who were dressed faultlessly in 
the style of the day. There was nothing in their 
appearance to indicate that they did not reside on 
Fifth Avenue, and, indeed, they may have had rooms 
6n that fashionable street. 

Messrs. Van Wink and Ketchem had also a cer- 
tain air of superiority, and they shook hands with 
Haldane in a way that implied, 

“ While we are metropolitan men, we recognize in 
you an extraordinarily fine specimen of the provin- 
cial.” And the yoiing man was not indifferent to 
their unspoken flattery. He at once invited them 
also to state to the smirking bar-tender their prefer- 
ences among the liquid compounds before them, and 
soon four glasses clinked together. 

With fine and thoughtful courtesy they had chosen 
the same mixture that he had ordered for himself, 
and surely some of the milk of human kindness must 
have been infused in the punches which they im- 
bibed, for Messrs. Van Wink and Ketchem seemed 
to grow very friendly toward Haldane. Perhaps 
taking a drink with a man inspired these worthies 
with a regard for him similar to that which the social 
eating of bread creates within the breasts of Bed- 
ouins, who, as travelers assert, will protect with their 
lives a stranger that has sat at their board ; but rob 
and murder, as a matter of course, all who have not 
enjoyed that distinction. Whatever may have been 
the cause, the stylish men from the city were evi- 


birds of FREY. 


85 


dently pleased with Haldane, and they delicately 
suggested that he was such an unusually clever fel- 
low that they were willing to know him better. 

** I assure you, Mr. Haldane,” protested Mr. Van 
Wink, “ our meeting is an unexpected pleasure. 
Having completed our business in town, time was 
hanging heavily on our hands, and it is still a full 
half-hour before the train leaves.” 

“ Let us drink again to further acquaintance,” said 
Mr. Ketchem cordially, evincing a decided disposi- 
tion to be friendly ; Mr. Haldane is in New York 
occasionally, and we would be glad to meet him and 
help him pass a pleasant hour there, as he is enliven- 
ing the present hour for us.” 

Haldane was not cautious by nature, and had been 
predisposed by training to regard all flattering atten- 
tion and interest as due to the favorable impression 
which he supposed himself to make invariably upon 
those whose judgment was worth any thing. It is 
true there had been one marked and humiliating ex- 
ception. But the consoling thought now flashed 
into his mind that, perhaps. Miss Romeyn was, as 
she asserted, but a mere “ child,” and incapable 
of appreciating him. The influence of the punch 
he had drank and the immediate and friendly inter- 
est manifested by these gentlemen who knew the 
world, gave a plausible coloring to this explana- 
tion of her conduct. After all, was he not judging 
her too harshly ? She had not realized whom she had 
refused, and when she grew up in mind as well as in 
form she might be glad to act very differently. But 
I may choose to act differently also,” was his haughty 
mental conclusion^ 


86 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

This self-communion took place while the still 
smirking bar-tender was mixing the decoctions or- 
dered by the cordial and generous Mr. Ketchem. A 
moment later four glasses clinked together, and Hal- 
dane’s first acquaintance — the young man with the 
air of slight but urbane superiority — felicitated him- 
self that he had “ made two free drinks ” within a 
brief space of time. 

The effect of the liquor upon Haldane after his 
long fast was far greater than if it had been taken 
after a hearty meal, and he began to reciprocate the 
friendliness of the strangers with increasing interest. 

“ Gentlemen,” said he, “ our meeting is one of 
those fortunate incidents which promise much more 
pleasure to come. I have ordered a little lunch in 
the dining-room. It will take but a moment for the 
waiters to add enough for three more, and then we 
will ride into the city together, for my business takes 
me there this evening also.” 

“ I declare,” exclaimed Mr. 'Van Wink in a tone 
of self-gratulation, were I piously inclined I should 
be tempted to call our meeting quite providential. 
But if we lunch with you it must be on condition 
that you take a little supper with us at the Bruns- 
wick after we arrive in town.” 

“ No one could object to such agreeable terms,” 
cried Haldane ; come, let us adjourn to the dining- 
room. By the way, Mr. Bar-tender, send us a bottle 
of your best claret.” 

The young man who an hour before had regarded 
himself as cruelly blighted for life, was quite success- 
ful in “ hiding his despair with laughter.” Indeed, 


BIRDS OF PREY, 


87 


from its loudness and frequency, undue exhilaration 
was suggested rather than a ** secret sorrow/* It 
gave him a fine sense of power and of his manly 
estate to see the waiters bustling around at his bid- 
ding, and to remember that he was the host of three 
gentlemen, who, while very superior in style, and 
evidently possessed of wealth, still recognized in him 
an equal with whom they were glad to spend a social 
hour. 

Scarcely ever before had he met any one who 
appreciated him as fully as did Messrs. Van Wink 
and Ketchem, and their courteous deference con- 
firmed a view which he had long held, that only in 
the large sphere of the metropolis could he find 
his true level and most congenial companionships. 
These young men had a style about them which 
provincials could not imitate. Even the superior 
gentleman who introduced them to him had a slight- 
ly dimmed and tarnished appearance as he sat beside 
his friends. There was an immaculate finish and 
newness about all their appointments — not a speck 
upon their linen, nor a grain of dust upon their broad- 
cloth and polished boots. If the theory be true 
that character is shown in dress, these men, out- 
wardly so spotless, must be worthy of the confidence 
with which they had inspired their new acquaintance. 
They suggested two bright coins just struck from 
the mint, and “ They have the ring of true metal,*’ 
thought Haldane. 

It seemed to the young men that they had just 
fairly commenced to enjoy their lunch, when a pro- 
longed shriek of a locomotive, dying away in the 


88 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

distance, awakened them to a sense of the flight of 
time. Hastily pulling out his watch, Haldane ex- 
claimed with an oath, 

** There goes our train. 

Messrs. Van Wink and Ketchem were apparently 
much concerned. 

** Haldane,” they exclaimed, ‘‘you are much too 
entertaining a fellow for one to meet when there's a 
train to be caught.” 

“ This is a serious matter for me,” said Haldane, 
somewhat sobered by the thought of Mr. Arnot's 
wrath; “ I had important business in town.” 

“Can it not be arranged by telegraph ?” asked 
Mr. Van Wink in a tone of kindly solicitude. 

“ One can’t send money by telegraph. No ; I 
must go myself.” 

The eyes of Haldane’s three guests met for a sec- 
ond in a way that indicated the confirmation of 
something in their minds, and yet so evanescent was 
this glance of intelligence that a cool, close observer 
would scarcely have detected it, much less their 
flushed and excited host. 

“ Don’t worry, Haldane,” said his first acquaint 
ance ; “ there is an owl-train along at eleven to-night, 
and you can mail your check or draft on that if you 
do not care to travel at such an unearthly hour.” 

“ O, there is a late train ! ” cried the young man, 
much relieved. “ Then I’m all right. I am obliged 
to go myself, as the funds I carry are in such a shape 
that I cannot mail them.” 

Again the eyes of his guests met with a furtive 
gleam of satisfaction. 


BIRDS OP PREY. 


Now that Haldane felt himself safely out of hia 
dilemma, he began to be solicitous about his com- 
panions. 

‘‘ I fear,” he said, “ that my poor courtesy can 
make but small amends for the loss of your train.” 

Well, Haldane,” said Mr. Ketchem, with great 
apparent candor, “ I speak for myself when I say 
that I would regret losing this train under most cir- 
cumstances, but with the prospect of a social evening 
together I can scarcely say that I do.” 

“ I, too,” cried Mr. Van Wink, “ am inclined to 
regard our loss of the train as a happy freak of for- 
tune. Let us take the owl-train, also, Ketchem, 
and make a jovial night of it with Mr. Haldane.” 

“ Fill up your glasses, and we’ll drink to a jolly 
night,” cried Haldane, and all complied with won- 
derful zest and unanimity. The host, however, was 
too excited and preoccupied to note that while Mr. 
Van Wink and Mr. Ketchem were always ready to 
have their glasses filled, they never drained them 
very low; and thus it happened that he and the 
slightly superior gentleman who made free drinks 
one of the chief objects of existence shared most of 
the bottle of wine between them. 

As the young men rose from the lunch table Hal- 
dane called this individual aside, and said : 

Harker, I want you to help a fellow out of a 
scrape. You must know that I was expected to 
leave town on the five-thirty train. I do not care to 
be seen in the public rooms, for old cast-iron Arnot 
might make a row about my delay, even though it 
will make no difference in his business. Please en- 


90 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

gage a private roDm, where we can have a bottle of 
wine and a quiet game of cards, and no one be the 
wiser.’’ 

Certainly — nothing easier in the world — I know 
just the room — cozy — off one side — wait a moment, 
gentlemen.” 

It seemed but a moment before he returned and 
led them, preceded by a bell-boy, to just such an 
apartment as he had described. Though the even- 
ing was mild, a fire was lighted in the grate, and as 
it kindled it combined with the other appointments 
to give the apartment an air of luxurious comfort. 

“ Bring us a bottle of sherry,” said Haldane to the 
bell-boy. 

‘‘ Also a pack of cards, some fine old brandy and 
cigars, and charge to me,” said Mr. Ketchem ; “ I 
wish to have my part in this entertainment. Come, 
Harker, take a seat.” 

“ Desperately sorry I can’t spend the evening with 
you,” said this sagacious personage, who realized 
with extreme regret that not even for the prospect 
of unlimited free potations could he afford to risk 
the loss of his eminent respectability, which he re- 
garded as a capitalist does his principal, something 
that must be drawn upon charily. Mr. Harker 
knew that his mission was ended, and, in spite of 
the order for the sherry and brandy, he had suffi- 
cient strength of mind to retire. In delicate business 
transactions like the one under consideration he 
made it a point to have another engagement when 
matters got about as far along as they now were 
in Haldane’s case. If any thing unpleasant occurred 


BIRDS OF PREY, 


9J 

between parties whom he introduced to each other, 
and he was summoned as a witness, he grew so 
exceedingly dignified and superior in his bearing 
that every one felt like asking his pardon for their 
suspicions. He always proved an alibi, and left the 
court room with the air of an injured man. As peo- 
ple, however, became familiar with his haunts and 
habits, there was an increasing number who regarded 
his virtuous assumptions and professions of igno- 
rance in respect to certain cases of swindling with 
incredulous smiles. 

Mr. Harker, however, could not tear himself away 
till the brandy and sherry appeared, and, after pay- 
ing his respects to both, went to keep his engage- 
ment, which consisted in lounging about another 
hotel on the other side of the depot. 

Messrs. Van Wink and Ketchem, of course, both 
knew how to deal the cards, and with apologetic 
laughter the young men put up small stakes at first, 
just to give zest to the amusement. Haldane lost 
the first game, won the second and third, lost again, 
had streaks of good and bad luck so skillfully inter- 
mingled that the thought often occurred to him, 

“ These fellows play as fair a game as I ever saw 
and know how to win and lose money like gentle- 
men.” 

But these high-toned “ gentlemen ' always man- 
aged to keep the bottle of sherry near him, and 
when they lost they would good-naturedly and hila- 
riously propose that they take a drink. Haldane 
always complied, but while he drank they only sipped. 

As the evening waned the excitement of the infat- 


92 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH ZENTURV. 

'uated youth deepened. The heat of the room and 
the fumes of tobacco combined with the liquor to 
unman him and intensify the natural recklessness of 
his character. 

There is, probably, no abnormal passion that so 
completely masters its victims as that for gambling ; 
and as Haldane won, lost, and won again, he became 
so absorbed as to be unconscious of the flight of 
time and all things else. But as he lost self-control, 
as he half-unconsciously put his glass to his lips with 
increasing frequency, his companions grew cooler 
and more wary. Their eyes no longer beamed good- 
naturedly upon their victim, but began to emit the 
eager, cruel gleams of some bird of prey. 

But they still managed the affair with consum 
mate skill. Their aim was to excite Haldane to the 
last degree of recklessness, and yet keep him suffi- 
ciently sober for further playing. From Harker they 
had learned that Mr. Arnot had probably sent him 
in the place of the clerk usually employed ; and, if so, 
it was quite certain that he had a large sum of money 
upon his person. Haldane’s words on becoming 
aware that he had missed his train confirmed their 
surmises, and it was now their object to 'beguile him 
into a condition which would make him capable of 
risking his employer’s funds. They also wished that 
he should remain sufficiently sober to be responsible 
for this act, and to remember, as he recalled the 
circum.stances, that it was his own act. Therefore 
they kept the brandy beyond his reach ; that was not 
yet needed. 

By the time the evening was half over, Haldane 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


93 


found that., although he had apparently won consid- 
erable money, he had lost more, and that not a 
penny of his own funds remained. With an angry 
oath he stated the fact to his companions. 

“ That’s unfortunate,” said Mr. Ketchem, sym- 
pathetically. “ There are nearly two hours yet be- 
fore the train leaves, and with your disposition 
toward good luck to-night you could clean us out by 
that time, and would have to lend us enough to pay 
our fares to New York.” 

‘‘ It’s a pity to give up our sport now that we have 
just got warmed up to it,” added Mr. Van Wink, 
suggestively. Haven’t you some funds about you 
that you can borrow for the evening — just enough to 
keep the game going, you know ? ” 

Haldane hesitated. He was not so far gone but 
that conscience entered an emphatic protest. The 
trouble was, however, that he had never formed the 
habit of obeying conscience, even when perfectly 
sober. Another influence of the past also proved 
most disastrous. His mother’s weakness now made 
him weak. In permitting him to take her money 
without asking, she had undermined the instinct of 
integrity whkh in this giddy moment of temptation 
might have saved him. If he from childhood had 
been taught that the property of others was sacred, 
the very gravity of the crime to which he now was 
urged would have sobered and awakened him to his 
danger. But his sense of wrong in this had been 
blunted, and there was no very strong repugnance 
toward the suggestion. 

Moreover, his brain was confused and excited to 


94 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

the last degree possible in one who still continued 
sane and responsible. Indeed, it would be difficult 
to say how far he was responsible at this supreme 
moment of danger. He certainly had drank so much 
as to be unable to realize the consequences of his 
action. 

After a moment’s hesitation, like one who feebly 
tries to brace himself in a swift torrent, the gambler’s 
passion surged up against and over his feeble will 
— then swept him down. 


VICJIM 


95 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THEIR VICTIM. 

H aldane drew an envelope from his breast- 
pocket, and laid it on the table, saying with 
a reckless laugh, 

‘‘ Well, well, as you say, there is no great harm in 
borrowing a little of this money, and returning it 
again before the evening is over. The only question 
is how to open this package, for if torn it may re- 
quire explanations that I do not care to make.” 

“ We can easily manage that,” laughed Ketchem 
put the package in your pocket a few moments, 
and he rang the bell. 

To the boy who appeared he said, Bring us three 
hot whisky punches — hot, remember ; steaming 
hot.” 

He soon reappeared with the punch, and the door 
was locked again. 

** Hold your package over the steam of your punch, 
and the gum will dissolve so that you can open and 
close it in a way that will defy detection.” 

The suggestion was speedily carried out. 

‘‘ Now,” continued Mr. Ketchem, “ the punch hav- 
ing already served so excellent a turn, we will finish 
it by drinking to your good luck.” 


96 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

Haldane won the first two games. This success, 
together with the liquor, which was strong, almost 
wholly dethroned his reason, and in his mad, drunk- 
en excitement he began to stake large sums. The 
eyes of his companions grew more wolfish than ever, 
and. after a significant flash toward each other, the 
gamblers turned fortune against their victim finally. 
The brandy was now placed within his reach, and 
under its influence Haldane threw down money at 
random. The first package was soon emptied. He 
snatched the other from his pocket and tore it open, 
but before its contents had likewise disappeared his 
head drooped upon his breast, and he became insen- 
sible. 

They watched him a moment, smiled grimly at 
each other, drew a long breath of relief, and, rising, 
stretched themselves like men who had been under 
a strain that had taxed them severely. 

Half an hour yet,” said Mr. Van Wink; “ wish 
the time was up.” 

“ This is a heavy swag if we get off safely with it. 
I say, Haldane, wake up.” 

But Haldane was sunk in the deepest stupor. 

“ I guess it’s safe enough,” said Van Wink answer- 
ing Ketchem’s questioning eyes. 

The latter thereupon completely emptied the re> 
maining package of money, and replaced the two 
empty envelopes in Haldane’s breast-pocket, and 
buttoned up his coat. ' 

With mutual glances of exultation at the largeness 
of the sum, they swiftly divided the spoil between 
them. It was agreed that after leaving the hotel 


THEIR VICTIM. 


97 


they should separate, that one should go to Boston, 
the other to Baltimore, and that they should return 
to their old haunts in New York after the interest 
caused by the affair had died out. Then, lighting 
cigars, they coolly sat down to wait for the train, 
having first opened a window and placed Haldane 
where the fresh air would blow upon him. 

When the time of departure approached, Mr. Van 
Wink went to the bar and paid both their own and 
Haldane’s bill, saying that they would now vacate 
the room. On his return Ketchem had so far aroused 
Haldane that he was able to leave the house with 
their assistance, and yet so intoxicated as to be inca- 
pable of thinking and acting for himself. They took 
him down a side street, now utterly deserted, and left 
him on the steps of a low groggery, from whence still 
issued the voices of some late revelers. Five minutes 
later the “ owl train ” bore from the towm Messrs. 
Van Wink and Ketchem, who might be called with 
a certain aptness birds of the night and of prey. 

Haldane remained upon the saloon steps, where 
he had been left, blinking stupidly at a distant street 
lamp. He had a vague impression that something 
was wrong — that a misfortune of some kind had be 
fallen him, but all was confused and blurred. He 
would have soon gone to sleep again had not the 
door opened, and a man emerged, who exclaimed : 

Faix, an who have we here, noddin’ to himself 
as if he knew more’n other folks ? Are ye waitin’ 
for some un to ax ye within for a comfortin’ dhrop? " 

“ Take me ’ome,” mumbled Haldane. 

** Where’s yer home ? ” 

£ 


98 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

** Mrs. Haldane’s, answered the youth, thinking 
himself in his native town. 

By me sowl, if it isn’t Boss Arnot’s new clerk. 
Sure’s me name is Pat M’Cabe ’tis Misther Haldane. 
I say, are ye sick ? ” 

Take me ’ome.” 

“ Faix, I see,” winking at two or three of his cro- 
nies who had gathered at the open door ; “ it’s a 
disase I’m taken wid meself at odd spells, though I 
takes moighty good care to kape out o’ the way of 
ould man Arnot when I’m so afflicted. He has a 
quare way o’ thinkin’ that ivery man about him can 
go as rigaler as if made in a mash-shine shop, bad 
luck till ’im.” 

Perhaps all in Mr. Arnot’s employ would have 
echoed this sentiment, could the ill luck have blight- 
ed him without reaching them. In working his em- 
ployes as he did his machinery, Mr. Arnot forgot 
that the latter was often oiled, but that he entirely 
neglected to lubricate the wills of the former with 
occasional expressions of kindness and interest in 
their welfare. Thus it came to pass that even down 
to poor Pat M’Cabe, man of all work around the 
office building, all felt that their employer was a 
hard, driving taskmaster, who ever looked beyond 
them and their interests to what they accomplished 
for him. The spirit of the master infused itself 
among the men, and the tendency of each one to 
look out for himself without regard to others was 
increased. If Pat had served a kinder and more 
considerate man, he might have been inclined to 
show greater consideration for the intoxicated youth ; 


THEIR VICTIM. 


99 


but Pat's favorite phrase, “ Divil take the hindmost,’* 
was but a fair expression of the spirit which anh 
mated his master, and the majority in his employ 
When, therefore, Haldane, in his thick, imperfect 
utterance, again said, “ Take me ’ome,” Pat conclud- 
ed that it would be the best and safest course for 
himself. Helping the young man to his feet he said 

-“Can ye walk? Mighty onstiddy on yer pins; 
but I’m athinkin’ I can get ye to the big house afore 
mornin’. Should I kape ye out o’ the way till ye 
got sober, and ould man Arnot find it out. I’d be 
in the street meself widout a job ’fore he ate his 
dinner. Stiddy now ; lean aginst me, and don’t 
wabble yer legs so.” 

With like exhortations the elder and more wary 
disciple of Bacchus disappeared with his charge in 
the gloom of the night. 

It chanced that the light burned late, on this 
evening, in Mrs. Arnot’s parlor. The lady’s indis- 
position had confined her to her room and couch 
during the greater part of the day ; but as the sun 
declined, the distress in her head had gradually 
ceased, and she had found her airy drawing-room a 
welcome change from the apartment heavy with the 
odor of anaesthetics. Two students from the uni- 
versity had aided in beguiling the early part of the 
evening, and then Laura had commenced reading 
aloud an interesting tale, which had suspended the 
consciousness of time. But as the marble clock on 
the mantel chimed out the hour of twelve, Mrs. 
Arnot rose hastily from the sofa, exclaiming : 

“ What am I thinking of, to keep you up so late I 


100 Kr/iirHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

If your mother knew that you were out of your bed 
she would hesitate to trust you with me again.’* 

** One more chapter, dear auntie, please ? ” 

** Yes, dear, several more — to-morrow ; but to bed 
now, instanter. Come, kiss your remorseful aunt 
good-night. I’ll remain here a while longer, for 
either your foolish story or the after effects of my 
wretched headache make me a trifle morbid and 
wakeful to-night. O, how that bell startles me I 
what can it mean so late ? ” 

The loud ring at the door remained unanswered a 
few moments, for the servants had all retired. But 
the applicant without did not wait long before re- 
peating the summons still more emphatically. 

Then they heard the library door open, and Mr. 
Arnot’s heavy step in the hall, as he went himself to 
learn the nature of the untimely call. His wife’s 
nervous timidity vanished at once, and she stepped 
forward to join her husband, while Laura stood look- 
ing out from the parlor entrance with a pale and 
frightened face. “ Can it be bad news from home?” 
she thought. 

Who is there ? ” demanded Mr. Arnot, sternly. 
“ Me and Misther Haldane,” answered a voice 
without in broadest brogue. 

‘‘ Mr. Haldane ! ” exclaimed Mr. Arnot excitedly; 
what can this mean ? Who is me? ” he next asked 
loudly. 

“ Me is Pat M’Cabe, sure ; the same as tidies up 
the office and does yer irrinds. Mr. Haldane’s had 
a bad turn, and I’ve brought him home.” 

As Mr. Arnot swung open the door, a man, who 


THEIR VICTIM. 


101 


seemingly had been leaning against it, fell prone 
within the hall. Laura gave a slight scream, and 
Mrs. Arnot was much alarmed, thinking that Hal- 
dane was suffering from some sudden and alarming 
attack. Thoughts of at once telegraphing to his 
mother were entering her mind, when the object of 
her solicitude tried to rise, and mumbled in the 
thick utterance of intoxication, 

‘‘This isn’t home. Take me to mother’s.” 

Mrs. Arnot’s eyes turned questioningly to her 
husband, and she saw that his face was dark with 
anger and disgust. 

“ He is drunk,” he said, turning to Pat, who stood 
in the door, cap in hand. 

“ Faix, sqr, it looks moighty loike it. But it’s 
not for a dacent sober man loike meself to spake sar- 
tainly o’ sich matters.” 

“ Few words and to the point, sir,” said Mr. Arnot 
harshly ; “ your breath tells where you have been. 
But where did you find this — and how came you to 
find him? ” 

Either Mr. Arnot was at a loss for a term which 
would express his estimation of the young man, who 
had slowly and unsteadily risen, and was supporting 
himself by holding fast the hat-rack, or he was 
restrained in his utterance by the presence of his 
wife. 

“ Well, sur,” said Pat, with as ingenuous and can- 
did an air as if he were telling the truth, “ the wife 
o* a neighbor o’ mine was taken on a suddint, and I 
went for the docther, and as I was a cornin’ home, 
who shud I see sittin’ on a doorsthep but Misther 


102 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

Haldane, and I thought it me duty to bring him 
home to yees." 

“You have done right. Was it on the doorstep 
of a drinking-place you found him ? ” 

“ I’m athinkin’ it was, sur ; it had that sort o’ look.” 

Mr. Arnot turned to his wife and said coldly, 
“You now see how it works. But this is not a fit 
object for you and Laura to look upon ; so please 
retire. I will see that he gets safely to his room. I 
suppose he must go there, though the station-house 
is the more proper place for him.” 

“ He certainly must go to his own room,” said 
Mrs. Arnot firmly, but quietly. 

“Well, then, steady him along up the stairs, Pat. 
I will show you where to put the — ” and Mr. Arnot 
again seemed to hesitate for a term, but the blank 
was more expressive of his contempt than any epi- 
thet could be, since his tone and manner suggested 
the worst. 

Returning to the parlor, Mrs. Arnot found Laura’s 
face expressive of the deepest alarm and distress. 

“ O auntie, what does all this mean ? Am I in 
any way to blame ? He said he would go to ruin 
if I didn’t — but how could I ? ” 

“ No, my dear, you are not in the slightest degree 
to blame. Mr. Haldane seems both bad and fool- 
ish. I feel to-night that he is not worthy to speak 
to you ; much less is he fit to be intrusted with 
that which you will eventually give, I hope, only to 
one who is pre-eminently noble and good. Come 
with me to your room, my child. I am very sorry I 
permitted you to stay up to-night.” 


THEIR VICTIM. 


103 

But Laura was sleepless and deeply troubled : she 
had never seen a laborer — much less one of her own 
acquaintances — in Haldane’s condition before; and 
to her young, innocent mind the event had almost 
the character of a tragedy. Although conscious of 
entire blamelessness-, she supposed that she was more 
directly the cause of Haldane’s behavior than was 
true, and that he was carrying out his threat to de- 
stroy himself by reckless dissipation. She did not 
know that he had been beguiled into his miserable 
condition through bad habits of long standing, and 
that he had fallen into the clutches of those who al- 
ways infest public haunts, and live by preying upon 
the fast, foolish, and unwary. Haldane, from his 
character and associations,* was liable to such an ex- 
perience whenever circumstances combined to make 
it possible. Young men with no more principle 
than he possessed are never safe from disaster, and 
they who trust them trust rather to the chances of 
their not meeting the peculiar temptations and tests 
to which they would prove unequal. Laura could 
not then know how little she had to do with the 
tremendous downfall of her premature lover. The 
same conditions given, he would probably have met 
with the same experience upon any occasion. After 
his first glass of punch the small degree of discretion 
that he had learned thus far in life began to desert 
him ; and every man as he becomes intoxicated is 
first a fool, and then the victim of every one who 
chooses to take advantage of his voluntary helpless- 
ness and degradation. 

But innocent Laura saw a romantic and tragic ele- 


104 ^^IGHT of the nineteenth century 

ment in the painful event, and she fell asleep with 
some vague womanly thoughts about saving a fel- 
low-creature by the sacrifice of herself. However, 
the morning light, the truth concerning Haldane, 
and her own good sense, would banish such morbid 
fancies. Indeed the worst possible way in which a 
young woman can set about reforming a bad man is 
to marry him. The usual result is greatly increased 
guilt on the part of the husband, and lifelong, hope- 
less wretchedness for the wife. 


PA T AND THE PRESS. 


10 $ 


CHAPTER IX. 

PAT AND THE PRESS. 

P AT having steadied and half carried Haldane tw 
his room, Mr. Arnot demanded of his clerk what 
had become of the money intrusted to his care ; 
but his only answer was a stupid, uncomprehending 
stare. 

** Hold his hands,” said Mr. Arnot impatiently. 
M’Cabe having obeyed, the man of business, whose 
solicitude in the affair had no concern with the 
young man’s immeasurable loss, but related only to 
his own money, immediately felt in Haldane’s pock- 
ets for the envelopes which had contained the thou- 
sand dollars in currency. The envelopes were safe 
enough — one evidently opened with the utmost 
care, and the other torn recklessly — but the money 
was gone. 

When Haldane saw the envelopes, there was a mo- 
mentary expression of trouble and perplexity upon 
his face, and he tried to speak ; but his thick utter- 
ance was unintelligible. This gleam of intelligence 
passed quickly, however, and the stupor of intoxica- 
tion reasserted itself. His heavy eyelids drooped, 
and Pat with difficulty could keep him on his feet. 

“ Toss him there on the lounge ; take off his 

. 5 * 


io6 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

muddy boots. Nothing further can be done while 
he is in this beastly condition,” said Mr. Arnot, in 
a voice that was as harsh as the expression of his 
face. 

The empty envelopes and Mr. Arnot’s dark looks 
suggested a great deal to Pat, and he saw that one 
of his ‘‘ sprees ” was an innocent matter compared 
with thfs affair.^ 

Now, go down to my study and wait there for 

me. 

Pat obeyed in a very steady and decorous man* 
ner, for the matter was assuming such gravity as to 
sober him completely. 

Mr. Arnot satisfied himself that there was no 
chance of escape from the windows, and then, after 
another look of disgust and anger at Haldane, who 
was now sleeping heavily, he took the key from the 
door, and locked it on the outside. 

Descending to his study, the irate gentleman next 
wrote .a note, and gave it to his porter, saying, 

“ Take that to the police head-quarters, and ask 
that it be sent to the superintendent at once. No 
mistake, now, as you value your place ; and mind 
not a word of all this to any one.” 

‘‘ Faix, sir. I’ll be as dumb as an eyster, and do 
yer biddin’ in a jiffy,” said Pat, backing out of the 
room, and glad to escape from one whose threaten- 
ing aspect seemed to forebode evil to any one w'ithin 
his reach. 

“ He looks black enough to murther the poor 
young spalpeen,” muttered the Irishman, as he has- 
tened to do his errand, remembering now with trep- 


PA T AND THE PRESS. 


107 


idation that, though he had escaped from his mas- 
ter, the big, red - faced, stout - armed wife of his 
bosom was still to be propitiated after his late 
prowlings. 

When he entered the main street, a light that 
glimmered from the top of a tall building suggested 
how he might obtain that kind of oil which, cast 
upon the domestic billows that so often raged in hia 
fourth-floor back room, was most effective in pro- 
ducing a little temporary smoothness. 

Since the weather was always fouler within his do- 
mestic haven than without, and on this occasion 
threatened to be at its worst, Pat at one time half 
decided not to run into port at all ; but the glimmer 
of the light already mentioned suggested another 
course. 

Although the night was far spent, Pat still longed 
for a “wink o’ slape” before going to his work, and, 
in order to enjoy it, knew that he must obtain the 
means of allaying the storm, which was not merely 
brewing, but which, from the lateness of the hour, 
had long been brewed. In his own opinion, the 
greenness of his native isle had long ago faded from 
his mental and moral complexion, and he did not 
propose that any stray dollars, which by any shrewd- 
ness or artifice could be diverted into his pocket, 
should get by him. 

Since his wife had developed into a huge, female 
divinity, at whose shrine it seemed probable that he 
would eventually become a human sacrifice, and 
whose wrath, in the meantime, it was his daily task 
to appease, Pat had gradually formed the habit of 


I 08 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CEKTUTY. 

making a sort of companion of himself. In accord- 
ance with his custom, therefore, he stopped under 
the high window from whence gleamed the light, for 
the sake of a little personal counsel. 

“ Now, Pat,” he muttered, “ if yees had gone home 
at nine o’clock, yees wudn’t be afeard to go home 
now; and if yees go home now widout a dollar 
more or less, the ould ’ooman will make yer wish 
yees had set on the curb-stone the rest o’ the night. 
They sez som^ men has no bowels o’ marcies ; and 
after what I’ve seen the night, and afore the night, 
too, I kin belave that Boss Arnot’s in’ards were cast 
at the same foundry where he gets his mash-shines. 
He told me that I must spake nary a word about 
what I’ve seen and heard, and if I should thry to 
turn an honest penny by givin’ a knowin’ wink or 
two where they wud pay for the same, that ’ud be 
the ind of Pat M’Cabe at the big office. And yet 
they sez that them as buys news is loike them that 
takes stolen goods — moighty willin’ to kape dark 
about where they got it, so that they kin get more 
next time. That’s the iditor of the Currier in yon 
high room, and p’raps he’ll pay me as much for a 
wink and a hint the night as I’ll get for me day’s 
work termorrow. Bust me if I don’t thry him, if 
he’ll fust promise me to say if any one axes him that 
he niver saw Pat M’Cabe in his loife,” and the sud- 
denly improvised reporter climbed the long stairways 
to where the night editor sat at his desk. 

Pat gave a hearty rap for manners, but as the 
night was waning he walked in without waiting for 
an answer, and addressed the startled newspaper 



“Is THIS THii Shop wiiiiRE ykr pays a dacent price for News?” 


Knight XIX Century 


Page 109 












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PAT AND THE PRESS. 


109 

man with a business-like directness, which might 
often be advantageously imitated : 

‘ Is this the shop where yer pays a dacent price 
for news ? ” 

“ It depends on the importance of the news, and 
Its truthfulness,” answered the editor, after eying the 
intruder suspiciously for a moment. 

“ Thin I’ve got ye on both counts, though I didn't 
think ye’d bear down so heavy on its being thrue,’' 
said Pat, advancing confidently. 

As the door of the press-room, in which men were 
at work, stood open, the editor felt no alarm from 
the sudden appearance of the burly figure before 
him, but, supposing the man had been drinking, he 
said impatiently: 

“ Please state your business briefly, as my time is 
valuable.” 

** If yer time is worth mor’n news. I’ll go to an- 
other shop,” said Pat stiffly, making a feint of depar- 
ture. 

That’s a good fellow, go along,” chimed in the 
editor, bending down to his writing again. 

Such disastrous acquiescence puzzled Pat for a 
moment, and he growled, “ No wonder yer prints a 
paper that’s loike a lump o’ lead, when ’stead o* 
lookin’ for news yer turns it away from yer doors.” 

“Now, look here, my man,” said the editor rising, 
“ if you have anything to say, say it. If you have 
been drinking, you will not be permitted to make a 
row in this office.” 

“ It’s not me, but another man that’s been dhrink- 
in’ ” 


no KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

“ Well,” snarled the editor, if the other man had 
the drink, you have the ‘ drunk,’ and if you don’t 
take yourself off. I’ll call some men from the press- 
room who may put you down stairs uncomfortably 
fast/ 

‘‘ Hould on a bit,” remonstrated Pat, ‘ before yei 
ruffle yer feathers clane over yer head and blinds yet 
eyes. Wud a man loike Boss Arnot send me, if I 
was dhrunk, wid a letther at this toime o’ night? and 
wud he send a letther to the suprintindent o’ the 
perlice at this toime o’ the night to ax him the toime 
o’ day! Afore yer calls yer spalpeens out o’ the 
press-room squint at that.” 

The moment the editor caught sight of the busi- 
ness stamp on Mr. Arnot’s letter and the formal 
handwriting, his manner changed, and he said 
suavely : 

‘‘ I beg your pardon — we have misunderstood one 
another — take a chair.” 

“ There’s been no misunderstandin’ on my part,” 
retorted Pat, with an injured air; “ I’ve got as dainty 
a bit o’ scandal jist under me tongue as iver ye spiced 
yer paper wid, and yees thrates me as if I was the 
inimy o’ yer sowl.” 

“ Well, you see,” said the editor apologetically, 
*‘your not being in our regular employ, Mr. — I beg 
your pardon — and your coming in this unusual way 
and hour — ” 

“ But, begorry, somethin’ unusual’s happened.” 

So I understand ; it was very good of you to 
come to us first ; just give me the points, and I will 
jot them down.” 


PA T AND THE PRESS. 


Ill 


“But what are yees goin’ to give me for the 
pints ? ” 

“That depends upon what they are worth. News 
cannot be paid for till we learn its value.” 

“Och! here I’m rinnin a grate risk in tellin’ ye 
at all, and whin I’ve spilt it all out, and can’t pick it 
up agin, ye may show me the door, and tell me to 
go ’long wid me rubbish.” 

“ If you find what you have to report in the paper, 
you may know it is worth something. So if you will 
look at the paper to-morrow you can see whether it 
will be worth your while to call again,” said the edi- 
tor, becoming impatient at Pat’s hesitancy to open 
his budget. 

“ But I’m in sore need of a dollar or two to-night. 
Dade, it’s as much as my loife’s worth to go home 
widout ’em.” 

“ See here, my good friend,” said the editor, rising 
again and speaking very energetically: “My time is 
very valuable, and you have taken considerable of it. 
Whatever may be the nature of your news, it will 
not be worth any thing to me if you do not tell it 
at once.” 

“ Well, you see the biggest part o’ the news is 
goin’ to happen to-morrow.” 

Well, well, what has happened to-night? ’ 

“Will ye promise not to mention me name? 

How can I mention it when I don’t know it?” 

‘ That’s thrue, that’s thrue. Now me mind’s aisy 
on that pint, for ye must know that Boss Arnot's 
in’ards are made o’ cast iron, and he’d have no marcy 
on a feller. Ye’ll surely give me a dollar, at laste.” 


1 12 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

“ Yes, if your story is worth printing, and I give 
you just three minutes in which to tell it.” 

Thus pinned down, Pat related all he knew and 
surmised concerning Haldane’s woful predicament, 
saying in conclusion, 

‘‘Ye must know that this Haldane is not a poor 
spalpeen uv a clerk, but a gintleman’s son. They sez 
that his folks is as stylish and rich as the Arnots 
themselves. If ye’ll have a reporther up at the office 
in the mornin’, ye’ll git the balance o’ the tale.” 

Having received his dollar, Pat went chuckling on 
his way to deliver his employer’s letter to the super- 
intendent of the city police. 

“ Faix ! I was as wise as a sarpent in not tollin’ me 
name, for ye niver can thrust these iditors. It’s no 
green Irishman that can make a dollar after twelve o 
the night.” 

A sleepy reporter was aroused and dispatched after 
Pat, in order to learn, if possible, the contents of Mr. 
Arnot’s note. 

In the meantime heavily leaded lines — vague and 
mysterious — concerning “ Crime in High Life,” were 
set up, accompanied on the editorial page by a para- 
graph to the following effect : 

With our usual enterprise and keen scent for news, we discovered 
at a late hour last night that an intelligent Irishman in the employ 
of Mr. Arnot had been intrusted by that gentleman with a letter 
written after the hour of midnight to the superintendent of the police. 
The guilty party appears to be a Mr Haldane — a young man of aris- 
tocratic and wealthy connections— who is at present in Mr. Arnot’s 
employ,, and a member of his family. We think we are aware of the 
nature of his grave offense, but in justice to all concerned we refer 
our readers to our next issue, wherein they will find full particulars of 


FA T AND THE PRESS, 


”3 

the painful affair, since we have obtained peculiar facilities for learn- 
ing them. No arrests have yet been made. 

“ That will pique all the gossips in town, and near- 
ly double our next issue,*’ complacently muttered 
the local editor, as he carried the scrawl at the last 
moment into the composing-room. 

In the meantime the hero of our story — if such a 
term by any latitude of meaning can be applied to 
one whose folly had brought him into such a prosaic 
and miserable plight — still lay in a heavy stupor on 
the lounge where Pat had thrown his form, that had 
been as limp and helpless as if it had become a mere 
body without a soul. But the consequences of his 
action did not cease with his paralysis, any more 
than do the influences of evil deeds perish with a 
dying man. 


1 14 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


\ 


CHAPTER X. 

RETURNING CONSCIOUSNESS. 

M r. ARNOT d]d not leave his library that night. 

His wife came to the door and found it lock- 
ed. To her appeal he replied coldly, but decisively, 
that he was engaged. 

She sighed deeply, feeling that the sojourn of 
young Haldane under her roof was destined to end 
in a manner most painful to herself and to her 
friend, his mother. She feared that the latter would 
blame her somewhat for his miserable fiasco, and 
she fully believed that if her husband permitted the 
young man to suffer open disgrace, she would never 
be forgiven by the proud and aristocratic lady. 

And yet she felt that it was almost useless to speak 
to her husband in his present mood, or to hope that 
he could be induced to show much consideration for 
so grave an offense. 

Of the worst feature in Haldane’s conduct, how- 
ever, she had no knowledge. Mr. Arnot rarely spoke 
to his wife concerning his business, and she had 
merely learned, the previous evening, that Haldane 
had been sent to New York upon some errand. Act- 
ing upon the supposition that her husband had re- 
membered and complied with her request, she gra- 


RETURNING CONSCIOUSNESS. 


”5 


ciously thanked him for giving the young man a little 
change and diverting novelty of scene. 

Mr. Arnot, who happened to verge somewhat to- 
ward a complacent mood upon this occasion, smiled 
grimly at his wife’s commendation, and even un- 
bent so far as to indulge in some ponderous at- 
tempts at wit with Laura concerning her “ magnifi- 
cent offer,” and asserted that if she had been “ like 
his wife, she would have jumped at the chance of 
getting hold of such a crude, unreformed specimen 
of humanity. Indeed,” concluded he, “ I did not 
know but that Mrs. Arnot was bringing about the 
match, so that she might have a little of the raw 
material for reformatory purposes continually on 
hand.” 

Mrs. Arnot smiled, as she ever did, at her hus- 
band’s attempted witticisms ; but what he regarded 
as light, delicate shafts, winged sportively and care- 
lessly, had rather the character of any heavy object 
that came to hand thrown at her with heedless, in- 
considerate force. It is due Mr. Arnot to say that 
he gave so little thought and attention to the wounds 
and bruises he caused, as to be unaware that any 
had been made. He had no hair-springs and jewel- 
tipped machinery in his massive, angular organiza- 
tion, and he acted practically as if the rest of hu- 
manity had been cast in the same mold with himself. 

But Haldane’s act touched him at his most vul- 
nerable point. Not only had a large sum of his 
money been made way with, but, what was far w^rsCi 
there had been a most serious irregularity in the 
business routine. While, therefore, he resolved that 


ij6 knight of the nineteenth century ^ 

Haldane should receive full punishment, the ulterior 
thought of giving the rest of his employes a warning 
and intimidating lesson chiefly occupied his mind. 

Aware of his wife’s “ unbusiness-like weakness and 
sentimental notions,” as he characterized her traits, 
he determined not to see her until he had carried 
out his plan of securing repayment of the money, 
and of striking a salutary sentiment of fear into the 
hearts of all who were engaged in carrying out his 
methodical will. 

Therefore, with the key of Haldane’s room in his 
pocket, he kept watch and guard during the remain- 
der of the night, taking only such rest as could be 
obtained on the lounge in his library. 

At about sunrise two men appeared, and rapped 
lightly on the library window. Mr. Arnot imme- 
diately went out to them, and placed one within a 
summer-house in the spacious garden at the rear of 
the house, and the other in front, where he would 
be partially concealed by evergreens. By this ar- 
rangement the windows of Haldane’s apartment and 
every entrance of the house were under the sur- 
veillance of police officers in citizen’s dress. Mr. 
Arnot’s own personal pride, as well as some regard 
for his wife’s feelings, led him to arrange that the 
arrest should not be made at their residence, for he 
wished that all the events occurring at the house 
should be excluded as far as possible from the inev- 
itable talk which the affair would occasion. At the 
same time he proposed to guard against the possi- 
bility of Haldane’s escape, should fear or shame 
prompt his flight. 


RETURNING CONSCIOUSNESS. 


117 


Having now two assistant watchers, he threw him- 
self on the sofa, and took an hour or more of unbro- 
ken sleep. On awaking, he went with silent tread 
to the door of Haldane s room, and, after listening 
a moment, was satisfied from the heavy breathing 
within that its occupant was still under the influence 
of stupor. He now returned the key to the door, 
and unlocked it so that Haldane could pass out as 
soon as he was able. Then, after taking a little re- 
freshment in the dining-room, he went directly to 
the residence of a police justice of his acquaintance, 
who, on hearing the facts as far as then known con- 
cerning Haldane, made out a warrant for his arrest, 
and promised that the officer to whom it would be 
given should be sent forthwith to Mr. Arnot’s office 
— for thither the young man would first come, or be 
brought, on recovering from his heavy sleep. 

Believing that he had now made all the arrange- 
ments necessary to secure himself from loss, and to 
impress the small army in his service that honesty 
was the “ best policy ” in their relations with him, Mr. 
Arnot walked leisurely to one of his factories in the 
suburbs, partly to see that all was right, and partly 
to remind his agents there that they were in the 
employ of one whose untiring vigilance would not 
permit any neglect of duty to escape undetected. 

Having noted that the routine of work was going 
forward as regularly as the monotonous clank of the 
machinery, he finally wended his way to his city 
office, and was the first arrival thither save Pat 
M’Cabe, who had just finished putting the place in 
order for the business of the day. His factotum 


rrS KNTGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

was in mortal trepidation, for in coming across town 
he had eagerly bought the morning Courier, and his 
complacent sense of security at having withheld his 
name from the “ oncivil iditer” vanished utterly as 
he read the words, “ an intelligent Irishman in Mr. 
Arnot’s employ.” 

‘‘Och! bloody blazes! that manes me,” he had 
exclaimed ; ‘‘ and ould Boss Arnot will know it jist 
as well as if they had printed me name all over the 
paper. Bad luck to the spalpeen, and worse luck to 
meself! ‘ Intilligent Irishman,’ am I ? Then what 
kind o’ a crather would one be as had no sinse a’ tall ? 
Here I’ve bin throwin’ away forty dollars the month 
for the sake o’ one! Whin I gets me discharge I’d 
better go round to the tother side o’ the airth than 
go home to me woife.” 

Nor were his apprehensions allayed as he saw Mr. 
Arnot reading the paper with a darkening scowl; 
but for the present Pat was left in suspense as to his 
fate. 

Clerks and book - keepers soon appeared, and 
among them a policeman, who was summoned to the 
inner office, and given a seat somewhat out of sight 
behind the door. 

Upon every face there was an expression of sup- 
pressed excitement and expectation, for the atten- 
tion of those who had not seen the morning papei 
was speedily called to the ominous paragraph. But 
the routine and discipline of the office prevailed, and 
in a few minutes all heads were bending over bulky 
journals and ledgers but with many a furtive glance 
at the door. 


RETURNING CONSCIOUSNESS, 


119 


As for Pat, he had the impression that the police- 
man within would collar him before the morning 
was over, and march him off, with Haldane, to jail ; 
and he was in such a state of nervous apprehension 
that almost any event short of an earthquake would 
be a relief if it could only happen at once. 

The April sun shone brightly and genially into 
the apartment in which Haldane had been left to 
sleep off his drunken stupor. In all its appoint- 
ments it appeared as fresh, inviting, and cleanly as 
the wholesome light without. The spirit of the 
housekeeper pervaded every part of the mansion, 
and in both furniture and decoration it would seem 
that she had studiously excluded every thing which 
would suggest morbid or gloomy thoughts. It was 
Mrs. Arnot’s philosophy that outward surroundings 
impart their coloring to the mind, and are a help or 
a hindrance. She was a disciple of the light, and 
was well aware that she must resolutely dwell in its 
full effulgence in order to escape from the blight- 
ing shadow of a life-long disappointment. Thus she 
sought to make her home, not gay or gaudy, — not 
a brilliant mockery of her sorrow, which she had 
learned to calmly recognize as one might a village 
cemetery in a sunny landscape, — but cheerful and 
lightsome like this April morning, which looked in 
through the curtained windows of Haldane’s apart- 
ment, and found every thing in harmony with itself 
save the occupant. 

And yet he was young and in his spring-time. 
Why should he make discord with the bright fresh 
morning? Because the shadow of evil — which is 


120 


KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


darker than the shadow of night, age, or sorrow — 
rested upon him. His hair hung in disorder over a 
brow which was contracted into a frown. His na- 
turally fine features had a heavy, bloated, sensual 
aspect ; and yet, even while he slept, you caught a 
glimpse in this face — as through a vail — of the an- 
guish of a spirit that was suffering brutal wrong and 
violence. 

His insensibility was passing away. His mind ap- 
peared to be struggling to cast off the weight of a 
stupefied body, but for a time its throes — which 
were manifested by starts, strong shudderings, and 
muttered words — were ineffectual. At last, in des- 
peration, as it were, the tortured soul, poisoned 
even in its imaginings by the impurity of the lower 
nature, conjured up such a horrid vision that in its 
anguish it broke its chains, threw off the crushing 
weight, and the young man started up. 

This returning consciousness had not been, like 
the dawn stealing in at his window, followed by a 
burst of sunlight. As the morning enters the stained, 
foul, dingy places of dissipation, which early in the 
evening had been the gas-lighted, garish scenes of 
riot and senseless laughter, and later the fighting 
ground of all the vile vermin of the night with their 
uncanny noises, — as when, the doors and windows 
having been at last opened, the light struggles in 
through stale tobacco-smoke, revealing dimly a dis- 
colored, reeking place, whose sights and odors are 
more in harmony with the sewer than the sweet 
April sunshine and the violets opening on southern 
slopes, — so when reason and memory, the janitors of 


- 



4 

He had a confused Memory of a great Disappointment. 


Knight XIX Century 


Page I2I 




RETURNING CONSCIOUSNESS. 


121 


the mind, first admitted the light of consciousness, 
only the obscure outline of miserable feelings and 
repulsive events were manifest to Haldane's intro- 
spection. 

There was a momentary relief at finding that the 
horrible dream which had awakened him was only a 
dream, but while his waking banished the uncouth 
shapes of the imagination, his sane, will-guided 
vision saw revealed that from which he shrank with 
far greater dread. 

For a few moments, as he stared vacantly around 
the room, he could realize nothing save a dull, lead- 
en weight of pain. In this dreary obscurity of suf- 
fering, distinct causes of trouble and fear began to 
shape themselves. There was a mingled sense of 
misfortune and guilt. He had a confused memory 
of a great disappointment, and he knew from his 
condition that he had been drinking. 

He looked at himself — he was dressed. There 
stood his muddy boots — two foul blots on the beauty 
and cleanliness of the room. So then he had come, 
or had been brought, at some hour during the night, 
to the house of his stern and exacting employer, 
Haldane dismissed the thought of him with a reck- 
less oath ; but his face darkened with anguish as he 
remembered that this was also the home of Mrs 
Arnot, who had been so kind, and, at the present 
time, the home of Laura Romeyn also. 

They may have seen, or, at least, must know of, 
his degradation. 

He staggered to the ewer, and, with a trembling 
hand, poured out a little water. Having bathed his 
6 


122 KNIGHT OP THE NINETEENTH CENTURT. 

hot, feverish face, he again sat down, and tried to 
recall what had happened. 

In bitterness of heart he remembered his last 
interview with Laura, and her repugnance toward 
both himself and what she regarded as “ his disgust- 
ing vices,” and so disgusting did his evil courses 
now seem that,* for the first time in his life, he 
thought ol himself with loathing. 

Then, as memory rapidly duplicated subsequent 
events, he gave a contemptuous smile to his “ gloomy 
grandeur” schemes in passing, and saw himself on 
the way to New York, with one thousand dollars of 
his employer’s funds intrusted to his care. He re- 
membered that he was introduced to two fascinat- 
ing strangers, that they drank and lunched together, 
that they missed the train, that they were gambling, 
that, having lost all his own money, he was tempted to 
open a package belonging to Mr. Arnot ; did he not 
open the other also? At this point all became con- 
fused and blurred. 

What had become of that money? 

With nervous, trembling haste he searched hi> 
pockets. Both the money and the envelopes were 
gone. 

His face blanched ; his heart sank with a certain 
foreboding of evil. He found himself, on the brink 
of an abyss, and felt the ground crumbling beneath 
him. First came a mad impulse to fly, to escape 
and hide himself; and he had almost carried it out. 
His hand was on the door, but he hesitated, turned 
back, and walked the floor in agony. 

Then came the better impulse of one as yet un 


RETURNING CONSCIOUSNESS. 


123 


hardened in the ways of evil, to go at once to his 
employer, tell the whole truth, and make such rep- 
aration as was within his power. He knew that his 
mother was abundantly able to pay back the money, 
and he believed she would do so. 

This he conceded was his best, and, indeed, only 
safe course, and he hoped that the wretched affair 
might be so arranged as to be kept hidden from the 
world. As for Mrs. Arnot and Laura, he felt that 
he could never look them in the face again. 

Suppose he should meet them going out. The 
very thought was dreadful, and it seemed to him 
that he would sink to the floor from shame under 
their reproachful eyes. Would they be up yet ? 
He looked at his watch ; it had run down, and its 
motionless hands pointed at the vile, helpless con- 
dition in which he must have been at the time 
when he usually wound it up. 

He glanced from the window, with the hope of 
escaping the two human beings whom he dreaded 
more than the whole mocking world ; but it was too 
lofty to admit of a leap to the ground. 

“Who is yonder strange man that seems to be 
watching the house ? ” he queried. 

Was it his shaken nerves and sense of guilt which 
led him to suspect danger and trouble on every 
side ? 

“ There is no help for it,” he exclaimed, grinding 
his teeth ; and, opening the door, he hastened from 
the house, looking neither to the tight hand nor to 
the left. 


124 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURV, 


CHAPTER XI. 

HALDANE IS ARRESTED. 

S Haldane strode rapidly along the winding. 



/i. graveled path that led from Mrs. Arnot's beau- 
tiful suburban villa to the street, he started violently 
as he encountered a stranger, who appeared to be 
coming toward the mansion ; and he was greatly re- 
lieved when he was permitted to pass unmolested. 
And yet the cool glance of scrutiny which he re- 
ceived left a very unpleasant impression. Nor was 
this uneasiness diminished when, on reaching the 
street, he found that the stranger had apparently 
accomplished his errand to the house so speedily 
that he was already returning, and accompanied by 
another man. 

Were not their eyes fixed on him, or was he mis- 
led by his fears? After a little time he looked 
around again. One of the men had disappeared, 
and he breathed more fully. No ; there he was on 
the opposite side of the street, and walking steadily 
abreast with him, while his companion continued fol- 
lowing about the same distance away. 

Was he “shadowed ”? He was, indeed, literally 
and figuratively. Although the sun was shining 
bright and warm, never before had he been conscious 


HALDANE IS ARRESTED, 


125 


of such a horror of great darkness. The light which 
can banish the oppressive, disheartening shadow of 
guilt must come from beyond the sun. 

As he entered the busier streets in the vicinity 
of the office, he saw a few persons whom he knew. 
Was he again misled by his overwrought and ner- 
vous condition ? or did these persons try to shun 
him by turning corners, entering shops, or by cross- 
ing the street, and looking resolutely the other 
way. 

Could that awful entity, the world, already know 
the events of the past night ? 

A newsboy was vociferating down a side street. 
The word Crime ” only caught Haldane’s ear, but 
the effect was as cold and as chilling as the drip of 
an icicle. 

As he hastened up the office steps, Pat M’Cabe 
scowled upon him, and muttered audibly, 

“ Bad luck till yees ! I wish I’d lift ye ablinkin’ 
like an owl where I found ye.” 

** An’ bad luck till yees, too,” added Pat in his 
surly growl, as a reporter, note-book in hand, stepped 
nimbly in after Haldane ; ** it’s meself that wishes 
iviry iditer o’ the land was burned up wid his own 
lyin’ papers.” 

Even the most machine-like of the sere and with- 
ered book-keepers held their pens in suspense as 
Haldane passed hastily toward Mr. Arnot’s private 
office, followed by the reporter, whose alert manner 
and observant, questioning eye suggested an ani- 
mated symbol of interrogation. 

The manner of his fellow clerks did not escape 


126 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

Haldane’s notice even in that confused and hurried 
moment, and it increased his sense of an impending 
blow ; but when, on entering the private office, Mr. 
Arnof turned toward him his grim, rigid face, and 
when a man in the uniform of an officer of the law 
rose and stepped forward as if the one expected had 
now arrived, his heart misgave him utterly, and for 
a moment he found no words, but stood before his 
employer, pallid and trembling, his very attitude 
and appearance making as full a confession of guilt 
as could the statement he proposed to give. 

If Pat’s opinion concerning Mr. Arnot’s “ in’ards” 
had not been substantially correct, that inexorable 
man would have seen that this was not an old of- 
fender who stood before him. The fact that Hal- 
dane was overwhelmed with shame and fear, should 
have tempered his course with healing and saving 
kindness. But Mr. Arnot had already decided upon 
his plan, and no other thought would occur to him 
save that of carrying it out with machine-like pre- 
cision. His frown deepened as he saw the reporter, 
but after a second’s thought he made no objection 
to his presence, as the increasing publicity that 
would result would add to the punishment which was 
designed to be a signal warning to all in his employ. 

After a moment’s lowering scrutiny of the trem- 
bling youth, during which his confidential clerk, by 
previous arrangement, appeared, that he might be a 
witness of all that occurred, Mr. Arnot said coldly, 

“Well, sir, perhaps you can now tell me what has 
become of the funds which I intrusted to your care 
last evening.” 


HALDANE IS ARRESTED, 


i»7 

“ That is my purpose — object,” stammered Hal- 
dane ; if you will only give me a chance I will tell 
you every thing.” 

“ I am ready to hear, sir. Be brief ; business has 
suffered too great an interruption already.” 

“ Please have a little consideration for me,” said 
Haldane, eagerly, great beaded drops of perspiration 
starting from his brow ; “ I do not wish to speak be- 
fore all these witnesses. Give me a private interview, 
and I will explain every thing, and can promise that 
the money shall be refunded.” 

“ I shall make certain of that, rest assured,” replied 
•Mr. Arnot, in the same cold, relentless tone. “ The 
money was intrusted to your care last evening, in the 
presence of witnesses. Here are the empty envelopes. 
If you have any explanations to make concerning 
what you did with the money, speak here and now.” 

“I must warn the young man,” said the police- 
man, interposing, “ not to say any thing which will 
tend to criminate himself. He must remember that 
whatever he says will appear against him in evi- 
dence.” 

‘‘ But there is no need that this affair should have 
any such publicity,” Haldane urged in great agita- 
tion. “ If Mr. Arnot will only show a little human- 
ity toward me I will arrange the matter so that he 
will not lose a penny. Indeed, my mother will 
pay twice the sum rather than have the affair get 
abroad.” 

The reporter just behind him grinned and lifted 
his eyebrows as he took down these words verbatim. 

“ For your mother’s sake I deeply regret that ‘ the 


138 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

affair,' as you mildly term it, must and has become 
known. As far as you are concerned, I have no 
compunctions. When a seeming man can commit a 
grave crime in the hope that a widowed mother*— 
whose stay and pride he ought to be — will come to 
his rescue, and buy immunity from deserved punish- 
ment, he neither deserves, nor shall he receive, mercy 
at my hands. But were I capable of a maudlin sen- 
timent of pity in the circumstances, the duty I owe 
my business would prevent any such expression as 
you desire. When any one in my employ takes ad- 
vantage of my confidence, he must also, and with 
absolute certainty, take the consequences.” 

“ Bad luck ter yez ! ” mentally ejaculated Pat. 
whom curiosity and the fascination of his own im- 
pending fate had drawn within earshot. 

“ What do you intend to do with me ? ” asked 
Haldane, his brow contracting, and his face growing 
sullen under Mr. Arnot’s harsh, bitter words. 

“ Do ! What is done with clerks who steal their 
employers’ money ? ” 

“ I did not steal your money,” said Haldane im- 
petuously. 

Where is it, then ? ” asked Mr. Arnot, with a cold 
sneer. 

“ Be careful, now,” said the policeman ; ‘‘ you are 
getting excited, and you may say what you’ll wish 
you hadn’t.” 

Mr. Arnot, do you mean to have it go abroad to 
all the world that I have deliberately stolen that 
thousand dollars ? ” asked the young man despe- 
ratelv 


HALDANE IS ARRESTED 


129 

** Here are the empty envelopes. Where is the 
money?’' said his employer, in the same cool, inex- 
orable tone. 

“ I met two sharpers from New York, who made a 
fool of me — ” 

** Made a fool of you ! that was impossible, ’ inter- 
rupted Mr. Arnot with a harsh laugh. 

“ Dastard that you are, to strike a man when he 
is down,” thundered Haldane wrathfully. “ Since 
every thing must go abroad, the truth shall go, and 
not foul slander. I got to drinking with these men 
from New York, and missed the train — ” 

“Be careful, now; think what you are saying,” in- 
terrupted the policeman. 

“ He charges me with what amounts to a bald theft, 
and in a way that all will hear of the charge, and 
shall I not defend myself? ” 

“ O, certainly, if you can prove that you did not 
take the money — only remember, what you say will 
appear in the evidence.” 

“ What evidence ? ” cried the bewildered and ex- 
cited youth with an oath. “ If you will only give me 
a chance, you shall have all the evidence there is in a 
sentence. These blacklegs from New York appeared 
like gentlemen. A friend in town introduced them 
to me, and, after losing the train, we agreed to spend 
the evening together. They called for cards, and 
they won the money.” 

Mr, Arnot’s dark cheek had grown more swarthy 
at the epithet of “dastard,” but he coolly waited 
until Haldane had finished, and then asked in his 
former tone, 

6 ^ 


130 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

“ Did they take the money from your person and 
open the envelopes, one carefully, the other reckless- 
ly, before they won it? " 

Guided by this keen questioning, memory flashed 
back its light on the events of the past night, and 
Haldane saw himself opening the first package, cer- 
tainly, and he remembered how it was done. He 
trembled, and his face, that had been so flushed, 
grew very pale. For a moment he was so over- 
whelmed by a realization of his act, and its threaten- 
ing consequences, that his tongue refused to plead 
in his behalf. At last he stammered, 

I did not mean to take the money — only to bor- 
row a little of it, and return it that same night. They 
got me drunk — I was not myself. But I assure you 
it will all be returned. I can — ” 

** Officer, do your duty,” interrupted Mr. Arnot 
sternly. “Too much time has been wasted over the 
affair already, but out of regard for his mother I 
wished to give this young man an opportunity to 
make an exculpating explanation or excuse, if it 
were in his power. Since, according to his own 
statement, he is guilty, the law*must take its course.” 

“You don’t mean to send me to prison ?” asked 
Haldane excitedly. 

‘"I could never send you to prison,” replied Mr. 
Arnot coldly; “your own act may bring you. there. 
But I do mean to send you before the justice who 
issued the warrant for your arrest, held by this of- 
ficer. Unless you can find some one who will give 
hail in your behalf, I do not see why he should treat 
you differently froni other offenders/’ 


HALDANE IS ARRESTED. 


13* 


Mr. Arnot,” cried Haldane passionately, this 
is my first and only offense. You surely cannot be 
so cold-blooded as to inflict upon me this irreparable 
disgrace ? It will kill my mother.’* 

“You should have thought of all this last even- 
ing,” said Mr. Arnot. “ If you persist in ignoring 
the fact, that it is your own deed that wounds your 
mother and inflicts disgrace upon yourself, the world 
will not. Come, Mr. Officer, serve your warrant, and 
remove your prisoner.” 

“ Is it your purpose that I shall be dragged 
through these streets in the broad light of day to 
a police court, and thence to jail ? ” demanded 
Haldane, a dark menace coming into his eyes, and 
finding expression in his livid face. 

“Yes, sir,” said the man of business, rising and 
speaking in loud, stern tones, so that all in the office 
could hear ; “ I mean that you or any one else in 
my employ who abuses my trust and breaks the laws 
shall suffer their full penalty.” 

“You are a hard-hearted wretch!” thundered 
Haldane; “you are a pagan idolater, and gold is 
your god. You crush your wife and servants at 
home; you crush the spirit and manhood of your 
clerks here by your cast-iron system and rules. If 
you had shown a little consideration for me you 
would have lost nothing, and I might have had a 
chance for a better life. But you tread me down into 
the mire of the streets ; you make it impossible 
for me to appear among decent men again ; you 
strike my mother and sisters as with a dagger. 
Curse you ! if I go to jail, it will require you and c^U 


132 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

your clerks to take me there ! ” and he whirled on 
his heel, and struck out recklessly toward the door. 

The busy reporter was capsized by the first blow, 
and his nose long bore evidence that it is a serious 
matter to put that member into other people’s afifairs, 
even in a professional way. 

Before Haldane could pass from the inner office 
two strangers, who had been standing quietly at the 
door, each dexterously seized one of his hands with 
such an iron grasp that, after a momentary struggle, he 
gave up, conscious of the hopelessness of resistance. 

“ If you will go quietly with us we will employ no 
force,” said the man in uniform ; otherwise we 
must use these ; ” and Haldane shuddered as light 
steel manacles were produced. “ These men are 
officers like myself, and you see that you stand no 
chance with three of us.” 

“ Well, lead on, then,” was the sullen answer. “ I 
will go quietly if you don’t use those, but if you do, 
I will not yield while there is a breath of life in me.” 

“ A most desperate and hardened wretch ! ” ejacu- 
lated the reporter, sopping his streaming nose. 

With a dark look and deep malediction upon his 
employer, Haldane was led away. 

Mr. Arnot was in no gentle mood, for, while he 
had carried out his programme, the machinery of 
the legal process had not worked smoothly. Very 
disagreeable things had been said to him in the hear- 
ing of his clerks and others. “ Of course, they are 
not true,” thought the gentleman ; “ but his insolent 
words will go out in the accounts of the affair as 
surely as my own.” 


HALDANE IS ARRESTED 


^33 


If Haldane had been utterly overwhelmed and 
broken down, and had shown only the cringing spirit 
of a detected and whipped cur, Mr. Arnot’s compla- 
cency would have been perfect. But as it was, the 
affair had gone forward in a jarring, uncomfortable 
nanner, which annoyed and irritated him as w^ould 
a defective, creaking piece of mechanism in one of 
his factories. Opposition, friction of any kind, only 
made his imperious will more intolerant of disobe- 
dience or neglect.; therefore he summoned Pat in a 
tone whose very accent foretold the doom of the 
“ intelligent Irishman.” 

Did I not order you to give no information to 
any one concerning what occurred last night?” he 
demanded in his sternest tone. 

Pat hitched and wriggled, for giving up his forty 
dollars a month was like a surgical operation. He 
saw that his master was incensed, and in no mood 
for extenuation ; so he pleaded — 

Misther Arnot, won’t ye plaze slape on it afore 
ye gives me me discharge. If ye’ll only think a bit 
about them newspaper men, ye’li know it could not 
be helped a’ tall. If they suspicion that a man has 
any thing in him that they’re wantin’ to know, they 
the same as put a corkscrew intil him, and pull till 
somethin’ comes, and thin they make up the rest 
Faix, sur, I niver could o’ got by ’em aloive wid me 
letther onless a little o’ the news had gone intil their 
rav’nous maws.” 

“ Then I’ll find a man who can get by them, and who 
is able to obey my orders to the letter. The cashier 
will pay you up to date ; then leave the premises.” 


C34 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH tENTURY. 

‘‘Och, Misther Arnot, me woife ’ll be the death o 
me, and thin ye’ll have me bluid on yer sowl. Give 
me one more — ” 

Begone ! ” said his employer harshly ; ** too much 
time has been wasted already.” 

Pat found that his case was so desperate that he 
became reckless, and, instead of slinking off, he, too, 
showed the same insubordination and disregard for 
Mr. Arnot’s power and dignity that had been so 
irritating in Haldane. Clapping his hat on one side 
of his head, and with such an insolent cant forward 
that it quite obscured his left eye, Pat rested his 
hands on his hips, and with one foot thrust out side- 
ways, he fixed his right eye on his employer with 
the expression of sardonic contemplation, and then 
delivered himself as follows : 

“The talcin’ up a few minits o’ yer toime is a 
moighty tirrible waste, but the sindin’ of a human 
bain to the divil is no waste a’ tall a’ tall : that’s the 
way ye rason, is it ? I allers heerd that yer in’ards 
were made o’ cast iron, and I can belave — ” 

“ Leave this office,” thundered Mr. Arnot. 

“ Begorry, ye can’t put a man in jail for spakin’ 
his moind, nor for spakin’ the truth. If ye had 
given me a chance I’d been civil and obadient the 
rist o’ me days. But whin ye act to’ard a man as if 
he was a lump o’ dirt that ye can kick out o’ the way, 
and go on, ye’ll foind that the lump o’ dirt will lave 
some marks on yer nice clothes. I tell ye till yer 
flinty ould face that ye’r a hard-hearted riprobate 
that ’ud grind a poor divil to paces as soon as any 
mash. shine in all yer big factories. Ye’ll see the day 


HALDANE IS ARRESTED. 


135 


whin ye’ll be under somebody’s heel yerself, bad 
luck to yez ! ” 

Pat’s irate volubility flowed in such a torrent that 
even Mr. Arnot could not check it until he saw fit 
to drop the sluice-gates himself, which, with a con- 
temptuous sniff, and an expression of concentrated 
wormwood and gall, he now did. Lifting his bat- 
tered hat a little more toward the perpendicular, he 
went to the cashier’s desk, obtained his money, and 
then jogged slowly and aimlessly down the street, 
leaving a wake of strange oaths behind him. 

Thus Mr. Arnot’s system again ground out the 
expected result; but the plague of humanity was 
that it would not endure the grinding process with 
the same stolid, inert helplessness of other raw ma- 
terial. Though he had had his way in each instance, 
he grew more and more dissatisfied and out of sorts. 
This vituperation of himself would not tend to im- 
press his employh with awe, and strike a wholesome 
fear in their hearts. The culprits, instead of slink- 
ing away overwhelmed with guilt and the weight of 
his displeasure, had acted and spokep as if he were 
a grim old tyrant ; and he had a vague, uncomforta- 
ble feeling that his clerks in their hearts sided with 
them and against him. It even occurred to him 
that he was creating a relation between himself and 
those in his service similar to that existing between 
master and slaves ; and that, instead of forming a 
community with identical interests, he was on one 
side and they on the other. But, with the infatua- 
tion of a selfish nature and imperious will, he mut- 
tered : 


136 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

“ Curse them ! I’ll make them move in my grooves, 
or toss them out of the way! ” Then, summoning 
his confidential clerk, he said : 

You know all about the affair. You will oblige 
me by going to the office of the justice, and stating 
the case, with the prisoner’s admissions. I do not 
care to appear further in the matter, except by 
proxy, unless it is necessary.” 


A MEMORABLE MEETING 




CHAPTER XII. 

A MEMORABLE MEETING. 

M rs. ARNOT had looked upon Haldane’s deg- 
radation with feelings akin to disgust and an- 
ger, but as long, sleepless hours passed, her thoughts 
grew more gentle and compassionate. She was by 
nature an advocate rather than a judge. Not the 
spirit of the disciples, that would call down fire from 
heaven, but the spirit of the Master, who sought to 
lay his healing, rescuing hand on every lost creature, 
always controlled her eventually. Human desert did 
not count as much with her as human need, and her 
own sorrows had made her heart tender toward the 
sufferings of others, even though well merited. 

The prospect that the handsome youth, the son 
of her old friend, would cast himself down to perish 
in the slough of dissipation, was a tragedy that 
wrung her heart with grief ; and when at last she 
fell asleep it was with tears upon her face. 

Forebodings had followed Laura also, even into 
her dreams, and at last, in a frightful vision, she saw 
her uncle placing a giant on guard over the house. 
Her uncle had scarcely disappeared before Haldane 
tried to escape, but the giant raised his mighty 
club, as large and heavy as the mast of a ship, and 


138 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

was about to strike when she awoke with a violent 
start. 

In strange unison with her dream she still heard 
her uncle’s voice in the garden below. She sprang 
to the window, half expecting to see the giant also, 
nor was she greatly reassured on observing an un- 
known man posted in the summer-house and left 
there. Mr. Arnot’s mysterious action, and the fact 
that he was out at that early hour, added to the dis- 
quiet of mind which the events of the preceding 
night had created. 

Her simple home-life had hitherto flowed like a 
placid stream in sunny meadows, but now it seemed 
as if the stream were entering a forest where dark 
and ominous shadows were thrown across its surface 
She was too womanly to be indifferent to the fate of 
any human being. At the same time she was still 
so much of a child, and so ignorant of the world, 
that Haldane’s action, even as she understood it, 
Zoomed up before her imagination as something aw- 
ful and portentous of unknown evils. She was op- 
pressed with a feeling that a crushing blow impended 
over him. Now, almost as vividly as in her dream, 
she still saw the giant’s club raised high to strike. 
If it were only in a fairy tale, her sensitive spirit 
would tremble at such a stroke, but inasmuch as it 
was falling on one who had avowed passionate love 
for her, she felt almost as if she must share in its 
weight. The idea of reciprocating any feeling that 
resembled his passion had at first been absurd, and 
now, in view of what he had shown himself capable, 
seemed impossible ; and yet his strongly-expressed 


A MEMORABLE MEETING. 


m 

regard for her created a sort of bond between them 
in spite of herself. She had realized the night be- 
fore that he would be immediately dismissed and 
sent home in disgrace; but her dream, and the 
glimpse she had caught of her uncle and the obser- 
vant stranger, who, as she saw, still maintained his 
position, suggested worse consequences, whose very 
vagueness made them all the more dreadful. 

As it was still a long time before the breakfast 
hour, she again sought her couch, and after a while 
fell into a troubled sleep, from which she was awak- 
ened by her aunt. Hastily dressing, she joined Mrs. 
Arnot at a late breakfast, and soon discovered that 
she was worried and anxious as well as herself. 

“ Has Mr. Haldane gone out? ” she asked. 

“Yes; and what perplexes me is that two stran- 
gers followed him to the street so rapidly that they 
almost seemed in pursuit.” 

Then Laura related what she had seen, and her 
aunt’s face grew pale and somewhat rigid as she rec- 
ognized the fact that her husband was carrying out 
some plan, unknown to her, which might involve a 
cruel blow to her friend, Mrs. Haldane, and an over- 
whelming disgrace to Egbert Haldane. At the same 
time the thought flashed upon her that the young 
man’s offense might be graver than she had supposed. 
But she only remarked quietly, 

“ I will go down to the office and see your uncle 
after breakfast.” 

“ O auntie, please let me go with you,” said Laura 
nervously. 

“ I may wish to see my husband alone,” replied 


140 


KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


Mrs. Arnot doubtfully, foreseeing a possible inter- 
view which she would prefer her niece should not 
witness. 

“ I will wait for you in the outer office, auntie, if 
you will only let me go. I am so unstrung that I 
cannot bear to be left in the house alone.” 

Very well, then ; we’ll go together, and a walk in 
the open air will do us both good.” 

As Mrs. Arnot was finishing her breakfast she list- 
lessly took up the morning Courier^ and with a sud- 
den start read the heavy head-lines and paragraph 
which Pat’s unlucky venture as a reporter had oc- 
casioned. 

‘‘Come, Laura, let us go at once,” said she, rising 
hastily; and as soon as they could prepare them- 
selves for the street they started toward the cen- 
tral part of the city, each too busy with her own 
thoughts to speak often, and yet each having a grate- 
ful consciousness of unspoken sympathy and com- 
panionship. 

As they passed down the main street they saw a 
noisy crowd coming up the sidewalk toward them, 
and they crossed over to avoid it. But the approach- 
ing throng grew so large and boisterous that they 
deemed it prudent to enter the open door of a shop 
until it passed. Their somewhat elevated position 
gave them a commanding view, and a policeman's 
uniform at once indicated that it was an arrest that 
had drawn together the loose human atoms that are 
always drifting about the streets. The prisoner was 
followed by a retinue that might have bowed the head 
of an old and hardened offender with shame, — rude, 


A MEMORABLE MEETING. 


141 


idle, half-grown boys, w'ith their morbid interest in 
every thing tending to excitement and crime, seedy 
loungers drawn away from saloon doors where they 
are as surely to be found as certain coarse weeds in 
foul, neglected corners — a ragged, unkempt, repulsive 
jumble of humanity, that filled the street with gibes, 
slang, and profanity. Laura was about to retreat 
into the shop in utter disgust, when her aunt ex- 
claimed in a tone of sharp distress, 

“ Merciful Heaven ! there is Egbert Haldane! ” 

With something like a shock of terror she recog- 
nized her quondam lover, the youth who had stood at 
her side and turned her music. But as she saw him 
now there appeared an immeasurable gulf between 
them ; while her pity for him was profound, it seemed 
as helpless and hopeless in his behalf as if he were a 
guilty spirit that was being dragged away to final 
doom. 

Her aunt’s startled exclamation caught the young 
man’s attention, for it was a voice that he would de- 
tect among a thousand, and he turned his livid face, 
with its agonized, hunted look, directly toward them. 

As their eyes met — as he saw the one of all the 
world that he then most dreaded to meet, Laura 
Romeyn, regarding him with a pale, frightened face, 
as if he were a monster, a wild beast, nay, worse, a 
comm'on thief on his way to jail — he stopped abrupt- 
ly, and for a second seemed to meditate some des- 
perate act. But when he saw the rabble closing on 
him, and heard the officers growl in surly tones, 
“ Move on,” a sense of helplessness as well as of 
shame overwhelmed him. He shivered visibly, 


142 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

dashed his hat down over his eyes, and strode on, 
feeling at last that the obscurity of a prison cell 
would prove a welcome refuge. 

But Mrs. Arnot had recognized the intolerable 
suffering and humiliation stamped on the young 
man’s features ; she had seen the fearful, shrinking 
gaze at herself and Laura, the lurid gleam of des- 
peration, and read correctly the despairing gesture 
by which he sought to hide from them, the rabble, 
and all the world, a countenance from which he al- 
ready felt that shame had blotted all trace of man- 
hood. 

Her face again wore a gray, rigid aspect, as if she 
had received a wound that touched her heart ; and, 
scarcely waiting for the miscellaneous horde to pass, 
she took Laura’s arm, and said briefly and almost 
sternly, 

“ Come.” 

Mr. Arnot’s equanimity was again destined to be 
dfsturbed. Until he had commenced to carry out his 
scheme of striking fear into the hearts of his employh^ 
he had derived much grim satisfaction from its con- 
templation. But never had a severe and unrelenting 
policy failed more signally, and a partial conscious- 
ness of the fact annoyed him like a constant stinging 
of nettles which he could not brush aside. When, 
therefore, his wife entered, he greeted her with his 
heaviest frown, and a certain twitching of his hands 
as he fumbled among his papers, which showed 
that the man who at times seemed composed of 
equal parts of iron and lead had at last reached a 
condition of nervous irritability which might resqlt 


A MEMORABLE MEETING. 


143 


in an explosion of wrath ; and yet he made a despe- 
rate effort at self-control, for he saw that his wife was 
in one of those moods which he had learned to regard 
with a wholesome respect. 

“ You have sent Haldane to prison,” she said 
calmly. Though her tone was so quiet, there was 
in it a certain depth and tremble which her husband 
well understood, but he only answered briefly : 

“ Yes ; he must go there if he finds no bail.” 

“ May I ask why ? ” 

He robbed me of a thousand dollars.” 

“Were there no extenuating circumstances?” 
Mrs. Arnot asked, after a slight start. 

“ No, but many aggravating ones.” 

“ Did he not come here of his own accord ?” 

“ He could not have done otherwise. I had detec- 
tives watching him.” 

“ He could have tried to do otherwise. Did he 
not offer some explanation ? ” 

“ What he said amounted to a confession of the 
crime.” 

“ What did he say ? ” 

“ I have not charged my mind with all the rash, 
foolish words of the young scapegrace. It is suffi- 
cient for me that he and all in my employ received 
a lesson which they will not soon forget. I wish you 
would excuse me from further considei avion of the 
subject at present. It has cost me too much time 
already.” 

“ You are correct,” said Mrs. Arnot very quietly. 
“ It is likely to prove a very costly affair. I trem- 
ble to think what your lesson may cost this young 


144 knight of the NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

man, whom you have rendered reckless and despe- 
rate by this public disgrace ; I tremble to think what 
this event may cost my friend, his mother. Of the 
pain it has cost me I will not speak — ” 

** Madam,” interrupted Mr. Arnot harshly, per- 
mit me to say that this is an affair concerning which 
a sentimental woman can have no correct under- 
standing. I propose to carry on my business in the 
way which experience has taught me is wise, and, 
with all respect to yourself, I would suggest that in 
these matters of business I am in my own province.’’ 

The ashen hue deepened upon Mrs. Arnot’s face, 
but she answered quietly : 

‘‘ I do not wish to overstep the bounds which 
should justly limit my action and my interest in this 
matter. You will also do me the justice to remem- 
ber that I have never interfered in your business, 
and have rarely asked you about it, though in the 
world’s estimation I would have some right to do so. 
But if such harshness, if such disastrous cruelty, is 
necessary to your business, I must withdraw my 
means from it, for I could not receive money stained, 
as it were, with blood. But of this hereafter. I 
will now telegraph Mrs. Haldane to come directly 
to our house — ” 

“To our house I” cried Mr. Arnot, perfectly 
aghast. 

“ Certainly. Can you suppose that, burdened with 
this intolerable disgrace, she could endure the pub- 
licity of a hotel ? I shall next visit Haldane, for as 
I saw him in the street, with the rabble following, 
he looked desperate enough to destroy himself.” 


A MEMORABLE MEETING. 


145 


Now, I protest against all this weak sentimen- 
tality,'’ said Mr. Arnot, rising. “You take sides 
with a robber against your husband.” 

“ I do not make light of Haldane’s offense to you, 
and certainly shall not to him. But it is his first of- 
fense, as far as we know, and, though you have not 
seen fit to inform me of the circumstances, I cannot 
believe that he committed a cool, deliberate theft. 
He could have been made to feel his guilt without 
being crushed. The very gravity of his wrong ac- 
tion might have awakened him to his danger, and 
have been the turning-point of his life. He should 
have had at least one chance — God gives us many.” 

“ Well, well,” said Mr. Arnot impatiently, “ let 
his mother return the money, and I will not prose- 
cute. But why need Mrs. Haldane come to Hilla- 
ton ? All can be arranged by her lawyer.” 

“You know little of a mother’s feelings if you can 
suppose she will not come instantly.” 

“ Well, then, when the money is paid she can take 
him home, that is, after the forms of law are com- 
plied with.” 

“ But he must remain in prison till the money is 
paid?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ You intimated that if any one went bail for him 
he need not go to prison. I will become his se- 
curity.” 

“ O nonsense ! I might as well give bail myself.” 

“ Has he reached the prison yet ? ” 

“ I suppose he has,” replied Mr. Arnot, taking 
care to give no hint of the preliminary examination, 

7 


146 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

for it would have annoyed him excessively to have 
his wife appear at a police court almost in the light 
of an antagonist to himself. And yet his stubborn 
pride would not permit him to yield, and carry out 
with considerate delicacy the merciful policy upon 
which he saw she was bent. 

“ Good morning,” said his wife very quietly, and 
she at once left her husband’s private room. Laura 
rose from her chair in the outer office and welcomed 
her gladly, for, in her nervous trepidation, the min- 
utes had seemed like hours. Mrs. Arnot went to a 
telegraph office, and sent the following dispatch to- 
Mrs. Haldane: 

“ Come to my house at once. Your son is well, 
but has met with misfortune.” 

She then, with Laura, returned immediately home 
and ordered her carriage for a visit to the prison. 
She also remembered with provident care that the 
young man could not have tasted food that morning. 


OUR KNIGHT IN JAIL. 


U7 


CHAPTER XIII. 

OUR KNIGHT IN JAIL. 

A S Haldane emerged from the office into the 
open glare of the street, he was oppressed 
with such an intolerable sense of shame that he be- 
came sick and faint, and tottered against the police- 
man, who took no other notice of his condition than 
the utterance of a jocular remark : 

“ You haven’t got over your drunk yet. I’m athink- 
ing.” 

Haldane made no reply, and the physical weak- 
ness gradually passed away. As his stunned and 
bewildered mind regained the power to act, he be- 
came conscious of a morbid curiosity to see how he 
was regarded by those whom he met. He knew 
that their manner would pierce like sword-thrusts, 
and yet every scornful or averted face had a cruel 
fascination. 

With a bitterness of which his young heart had 
never before had even a faint conception, he remem- 
bered that this cold and contemptuous, this scoffing 
and jeering world was the same in which only yester- 
day he proposed to tower in such lofty grandeur that 
the maiden who had slighted him should be consumed 
with vain regret in memory of her lost opportunity. 


£48 KNIGHT OF THE NINE TE EE TH CENTURY, 

He had, indeed, gained eminence speedily. All the 
town was hearing of him ; but the pedestal which 
lifted him so high was composed equally of crime 
and folly, and he felt as if he might stand as a monu- 
ment of shame. 

But his grim and legal guardians tramped along 
in. the most stolid and indifferent manner. The 
gathering rabble at their heels had no terror for 
them. Indeed, they rather enjoyed parading before 
respectable citizens this dangerous substratum of 
society. It was a delicate way of saying, “ Behold 
in these j'our peril, and in us your defense. We are 
necessary to your peace and security. Respect us 
and pay us well.” 

They represented the majesty of the law, which 
could lay its strong hand on high and low alike, 
and the publicity which was like a scorching fire to 
Haldane brought honor to them. 

Although the journey seemed interminable to the 
culprit, they were not long in reaching the police 
court, where the magistrate presiding had already 
entered on his duties. All night long, and throughout 
the entire city, the scavengers of the law had been at 
work, and now, as a result, every miserable atom of 
humanity that had made itself a pestilential offense 
to society was gathered here to be disposed of ac- 
cording to sanatory moral rules. 

Ilillaton was a comparatively well-behaved and 
decorous city ; but in every large community there 
is always a certain amount of human sediment, and 
Haldane felt that he had fallen low indeed, when he 
found himself classed and huddled with miserable 


OUR KNIGHT IN JAIL. 


149 

objects whose existence he had never before real- 
ized. Near him stood men who apparently had 
barely enough humanity left to make their dominat- 
ing animal natures more dangerous and difficult to 
control. To the instincts of a beast was added some- 
thing of a man’s intelligence, but so developed that 
it was often little more than cunning. If, when 
throwing away his manhood, man becomes a crea- 
ture more to be dreaded than a beast or venomous 
reptile, whichever he happens most to resemble, 
woman, parting with her womanhood, scarcely finds 
her counterpart even in the most noxious forms of 
earthly existence. She becomes, in her perversion, 
something that is unnatural and monstrous ; some- 
thing, so opposite to the Creator’s design, as to sug- 
gest it only in caricature, or, more often, in fiendish 
mockery. The Gorgons, Sirens, and Harpies of the 
ancients are scarcely myths, for their fabled forms 
only too accurately portray, not the superficial and 
transient outward appearance, but the enduring 
character within. 

Side by side with Haldane stood a creature whose 
disheveled, rusty hair, blotched and bloated features, 
wanton, cunning, restless eyes, combined perfectly 
to form the head of the mythological Harpy. It, 
required little effort of the imagination to believe 
that her foul, bedraggled dress concealed the wings 
and talons of the vulture.” Being still unsteady 
from her night’s debauch, she leaned against the 
young man, and when he shrank in loathing away, 
she, to annoy him, clasped him in her arms, to the 
uproarious merriment of the miscellaneous crowd 


150 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

that is ever present at a police court. Haldane 
broke away from her grasp with such force as to 
make quite a commotion, and at the same time said 
loudly and fiercely to the officer who had arrested 
him : 

** You may have the power to take me to jail, but 
you have not, and shall not have, the riglut nor the 
power to subject me to such indignities.” 

Silence there ! Keep order in the court ! ” com- 
manded the judge. 

The officer removed his prisoner a little farther 
apart from the others, growling as he did so *. 

“ If you don’t like your company, you should have 
kept out of it.’* 

Even in his overwhelming anxiety and distress 
Haldane could not forbear giving a few curious 
glances at his companions. He had dropped out of 
his old world into a new one, and these were its 
inhabitants. In their degradation and misery he 
seemed to see himself and his future reflected. What 
had the policeman said? — “Your company,” and 
with a keener pang than he had yet experienced he 
realized that this was his company, that he now 
belonged to the criminal classes. He who yesterday 
had the right to speak to Laura Romeyn, was now 
herded with drunkards, thieves, and prostitutes ; he 
who yesterday could enter Mrs. Arnot’s parlor, might 
now as easily enter heaven. As the truth of his 
situation gradually dawned upon him, he felt as if an 
icy hand were closing upon his heart. 

But little time, however, was given him for obser- 
vation or bitter revery. With the rapid and routine- 


OUR KNIGHT IN JAIL. 


*51 

like manner of one made both callous and expert 
by long experience, the. magistrate was sorting and 
disposing of the miserable waifs. Now he has be- 
fore him the inmates of a “ disorderly house,” upon 
which a “ raid ” had been made the previous night. 
What is that fair young girl with blue eyes doing 
among those coarse-featured human dregs, her com- 
panions ? She looks like a white lily that has been 
dropped into a puddle. Perhaps that delicate and 
attractive form is but a disguise for the Harpy’s wings 
and claws. Perhaps a gross, bestial spirit is masked 
by her oval Madonna-like face. Perhaps she is the 
victim of one upon whom God will wreak his ven- 
geance forever, though society has for him scarcely 
a frown. 

The puddle is suddenly drained off into some law- 
ordained receptacle, and the white lily is swept away 
with it. She will not long suggest a flower that has 
been dropped into the gutter. The stains upon her 
soul will creep up into her face, and make her hideous 
like the rest. 

The case of Egbert Haldane was next called. As 
the policeman had said, his own admissions were 
now used against him, for the confidential clerk, and, 
if there was need, the broken-nosed reporter were 
on hand to testify to all that had been said. The 
young man made no attempt to conceal, but tried to 
explain more fully the circumstances which led to the 
act, hoping that in them the justice would find such 
extenuating elements as would prevent a committal 
to prison. 

The judge recognized and openly acknowledged 


152 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

the fact that it was not a case of deliberate wrong- 
doing, and he ordered the 1. arrest of the superior 
young gentleman who had introduced the New Ycrk 
gamblers to their victim ; and yet in the eye of the 
law it was a clear case of embezzlement ; and, as Mr. 
Arnot’s friend, the magistrate felt little disposition 
to prevent things from taking their usual course. 
The prisoner must either furnish bail at once, or be 
committed until he could do so, or until the case 
could be properly tried. As Haldane was a compar- 
ative stranger in Hillaton there was no one to whom 
he felt he could apply, and he supposed it would re- 
quire some little time for his mother to arrange the 
matter. Upon his signifying that he could not fur- 
nish bail immediately, the judge promptly ordered 
his committal to the common jail of the city, which 
happened to be at some distance from the building 
then employed for the preliminary examinations. 

It was while on his way to this place of detention 
that he heard Mrs. Arnot’s voice, and encountered 
her eyes and those of Laura Romeyn. His first im- 
pulse was to end both his suffering and himself by 
some desperate act, but he was powerless even to 
harm himself. 

The limit of endurance, however, had been reach- 
ed. The very worst that he could imagine had be- 
fallen him. Laura Romeyn had looked upon his 
unutterable shame and disgrace. From a quivering 
and almost agonizing sensibility to his situation he 
reacted into sullen indifference. He no longer saw 
the sun shining in the sky, nor the familiar sights of 
the street; he no longer heard nor heeded the jeer- 


OUR KNIGHT IN JAIL. 


153 


ing rabble that came tramping after. He became for 
the time scarcely more than a piece of mechanism, 
that barely retained the power of voluntary motion, 
but had lost ability to feel and think. When, at last, 
he entered his narrow cell, eight feet by eight, the 
wish half formed itself in his mind that it was six feet 
by two, and that he might hide in it forever. 

He sat down on the rough wooden couch which 
formed the only furniture of the room, and buried 
his face in his hands, conscious only of a dull, leaden 
weight of pain. He made no effort to obtain legal 
counsel or to communicate his situation to his mo- 
ther. Indeed, he dreaded to see her, and he felt 
that he could not look his sisters in the face again. 
The prison cell seemed a refuge from the terrible 
scorn of the world, and his present impulse was to 
cower behind its thick walls for the rest of his life. 

7* 


154 


KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


CHAPTER XIV. 

MR. ARNOT’S system WORKS BADLY. 

M r. ARNOT was so disturbed by his wife’s visit 
that he found it impossible to return to the 
routine of business, and, instead of maintaining the 
cold, lofty bearing of a man whose imperious will 
awed and controlled all within its sphere, he fumed 
up and down his office like one who had been caught 
in the toils himself. In the morning it had seemed 
that there could not have been a fairer opportunity 
to vindicate his iron system, and make it irresistible. 
The offending subject in his business realm should re- 
ceive due punishment, and all the rest be taught that 
they were governed by inexorable laws, which would 
be executed with the certainty and precision with 
which the wheels moved in a great factory under 
the steady impulse of the motor power. But the 
whole matter now bade fair to end in a tangled snarl, 
whose final issue no one could foretell. 

He was sensitive to public opinion, and had sup- 
posed that his course would be upheld and applaud- 
ed, and he be commended as a conservator of public 
moralSo He now feared, however, that he would be 
portrayed s.s harsh, grasping, and unfeeling. It did 


MR. ARNOT'S SYSTEM WORKS BADLY. 155 

not trouble him that he was so, but that he would 
be made to appear so. 

But his wife’s words in reference to the withdrawal 
of her large property from his business was a far 
more serious consideration. He had learned how 
resolute and unswerving she could be in matters of 
conscience, and he knew that she was not in the 
habit of making idle threats in moments of irritation. 
If, just at this time, when he was widely extending 
his business, she should demand a separate invest- 
ment of her means, it would embarrass and cripple 
him in no slight degree. If this should be one of the 
results of his master-stroke, he would have reason to 
curse his brilliant policy all his days. He would now 
be only too glad to get rid of the Haldane affair on 
any terms, for thus far it had proved only a source 
of annoyance and mortification. He was somewhat 
consoled, however, when his confidential clerk re- 
turned and intimated that the examination before 
the justice had been brief ; that Haldane had eagerly 
stated his case to the justice, but when that digni- 
tary remarked that it was a clear case of embezzle- 
ment, and that he would have to commit the prisoner 
unless some one went security for his future appear- 
ance, the young fellow had grown sullen and an- 
swered, Send me to jail then ; I have no friends 
in this accursed city.” 

To men of the law and of sense the case was as 
clear as daylight. 

But Mr. Arnot was not by any means through 
with his disagreeable experiences. He had been a 
manufacturer sufficiently long to know that when a 


156 knight of the nineteenth century, 

piece of machii.ery is set in motion, not merely the 
wheels nearest to one will move, but also others that 
for the moment may be out of sight. He who pro- 
poses to have a decided influence upon a fellow-crea- 
ture’s destiny should remember our complicated re- 
lations, for he cannot lay his strong grasp upon one 
life without becoming entangled in the interests of 
many others. 

Mr. Arnot was finding this out to his cost, for he 
had hardly composed himself to his writing again 
before there was a rustle of a lady’s garments in the 
outer office, and a hasty step across the threshold 
of his private sanctum. Looking up, he saw, to his 
dismay, the pale, frightened face of Mrs. Haldane. 

** Where is Egbert ? — where is my son ? ” she asked 
abruptly. 

At that moment Mr. Arnot admitted to himself 
that he had never been asked so embarrassing a ques- 
tion in all his life. Before him was his wife’s friend, 
a lady of the highest social rank, and she was so un- 
mistakably a lady that he could treat her with only 
the utmost deference. He saw with alarm himself 
the mother’s nervous and trembling apprehension, 
for there was scarcely any thing under heaven that 
he would not rather face than a scene with a hyste- 
rical woman. If this was to be the climax of his 
policy he would rather have lost the thousand dol- 
lars than have had it occur. Rising from his seat, he 
said awkwardly : 

‘‘ Really, madam, I did not expect you here this 
morning ? ” 

** I was on my way to New York, and decided to 


MR. ARNOT'S S YSTEM WORKS BADL Y. 157 

stop and give my son a surprise. But this paper — ■ 
this dreadful report — what does it mean ? ” 

I am sorry to say, madam, it is all too true,” re- 
plied Mr. Arnot uneasily. “ Please take a chair,, or 
perhaps it would be better for you to go at once to 
our house and see Mrs. Arnot,” he added, now glad 
to escape the interview on any terms. 

“ What is too true ? ” she gasped. 

‘‘ I think you had better see Mrs. Arnot ; she will 
explain,” said the unhappy man, who felt that his 
system was tumbling in chaos about his ears. Let 
me assist you to your carriage.” 

“ Do you think I can endure the suspense of an- 
other moment? In mercy speak — tell me the 
worst ! ” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Arnot, with a shiver like that of 
one about to plunge into a cold bath, ‘‘ I suppose 
you will learn sooner or later that your son has com- 
mitted a very wrong act. But,” he added hastily, 
on seeing Mrs. Haldane’s increasing pallor, “ there 
are extenuating circumstances — at least, I shall act 
as if there were.” 

‘‘ But what has he done — where is he?” cried the 
mother in agony. Then she added in a frightened 
whisper, “ But the matter can be hushed up — there 
need be no publicity — O, that would kill me I Please 
take steps — ” 

** Mr. Arnot,” said a young man just entering, and 
speaking in a piping, penetrating voice, “ I repre- 
sent the Evening Spy. I wish to obtain from you 
for publication the particulars of this disgraceful 
affair.” Then, seeing Mrs. Haldane, who had 


158 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

dropped her vail, and was trembling violently, he 
added, ‘‘ I hope I am not intruding; I — 

“ Yes, sir, you are intruding,” said Mr. Arnot 
harshly. 

** Then, perhaps, sir, you will be so kind as to step 
outside for a moment. I can take down your words 
rapidly, and — ” 

“ Step outside yourself, sir. I have nothing what- 
ever to say to you.” 

“ I beg you to reconsider that decision, sir. Of 
course, a full account of the affair must appear in 
this evening’s Spy. It will be your own fault if it is 
not true in all respects. It is said that you have 
acted harshly in the matter — that it was young Hal- 
dane’s first offense, and — '* 

“ Leave my office ! ” thundered Mr. Arnot. 

The lynx-eyed reporter, while speaking thus rapid- 
ly, had been scrutinizing the vailed and trembling 
lady, and he was scarcely disappointed that she now 
rose hastily, and threw back her vail as she said 
eagerly, 

“Why must the whole affair be published? You 
say truly that his offense, whatever it is, is his first. 
Surely the editor of your paper will not be so cruel 
as to blast a young man forever with disgrace ! ” 

“ Mrs. Haldane, I presume,” said the reporter, 
tracing a few hieroglyphics in his note-book. 

“Yes,” continued the lady, speaking from the im- 
pulse of her heart, rather than, from any correct 
knowledge of the world, “ and I will pay willingly any 
amount to have the whole matter quietly dropped. 
I could not endure any thing of this kind, for I have 


MR, ARNO T'S S YSTEM WORKS BADL Y, 159 

no husband to shelter me, and the boy has no father 
to protect him.” 

Mr. Arnot groaned in spirit that he had not con- 
sidered this case in any of its aspects save those 
which related to his business. He had formed the 
habit of regal ding all other considerations as unwor 
thy of attention, but here, certainly, was a most dis- 
agreeable exception. 

“ You touch my feelings deeply,” said the reporter 
in a tone that never for a second lost its professional 
cadence, “ but I much regret that your hopes cannot 
be realized. Your son’s act could scarcely be kept 
a secret after the fact — known to all — that he has 
been openly dragged to prison through the streets,” 
and the gatherer of news and sensations kept an eye 
on each of his victims as he made this statement. 
A cabalistic sign in his note-book indicated the visi- 
ble wincing of the enraged and half-distracted manu- 
facturer, whose system was like an engine off the 
track, hissing and helpless ; and a few other equally 
obscure marks suggested to the initiated the lady’s 
words as she half shrieked : 

“ My son dragged through the streets to prison ! 
By whom — who could do so dreadful ? ” — and she 
sank shudderingly into a chair, and covered her face 
with her hands, a3 if to shut out a harrowing vision. 

“ I regret to say, madam, that it was by a police- 
man,” added the reporter. 

“ And thither a policeman shall drag you, if you 
do not instantly vacate these premises ! ” said Mr. 
Arnot, hoarse with rage. 

“Thanx you for your courtesy,” answered the 


l6o KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

reporter, shutting his book with a snap like that of 
a steel trap. I have now about all the points I 
wish to get here. I understand that Mr. Patrick 
M’Cabe is no longer under any obligations to you, 
and from him I can learn additional particulars. 
Good morning.” 

“Yes, go to that unsullied source of truth, whom I 
have just discharged for lying and disobedience. Go 
to perdition, also, if you please ; but take yourself 
out of my office,” said Mr. Arnot recklessly, for he 
was growing desperate from the unexpected compli- 
cations of the case. Then he summoned one of his 
clerks, and said in a tone of authority, “ Take this 
lady to my residence, and leave her in the care of 
Mrs. Arnot.” 

Mrs. Haldane rose unsteadily, and tottered toward 
the door. 

“No,” said she bitterly; “I may faint in the 
street, but I will not go to your house.” 

“ Then assist the lady to her carriage ; ” and Mr. 
A.rnot turned the key of his private office with mut- 
tered imprecations upon the whole wretched affair. 

“ Whither shall I tell the man to drive ? ” asked 
the clerk, after Mrs. Haldane had sunk back ex- 
hausted on the seat. 

The lady put her hand to her brow, and tried to 
collect her distracted thoughts, and, after a moment’s 
hesitation, said, 

“ To the prison.” 

The carriage contain'ng Mrs. Haldane stopped at 
last before the gloomy massive building, the upper 
part of which was use. as a court-room and offices 


MR. A RNO T'S S YSTEM WORK S BADLy. 1 6 1 


for city and county officials, while in the basement 
were constructed the cells of the prison. It required 
a desperate effort on the part of the timid and deli- 
cate lady, who for years had almost been a recluse 
from the world, to summon courage to alight and 
approach a place that to her abounded in many and 
indefinite horrors. She was too preoccupied to ob- 
serve that another carriage had drawn up to the 
entrance, and the first intimation that she had of 
Mrs. Arnot’s presence occurred when that lady took 
her hand in the shadow of the porch, and said, 

Mrs. Haldane, I am greatly surprised to see you 
here; but you can rely upon me as a true friend 
throughout this trial. I shall do all in my power 
to—” 

After the first violent start caused by her disturbed 
nervous condition, Mrs. Haldane asked, in a reproach- 
ful and almost passionate tone, 

“ Why did you not prevent — ” and then she hesi- 
tated, as if she could not bring herself to utter the 
concluding words. ‘ 

I could not ; I did not know ; but since I heard 
I have been doing every thing in my power.” 

“ It was your husband who — ” 

“ Yes,” replied Mrs. Arnot, sadly, completing in 
thought her friend’s unfinished sentence. “ But I 
had no part in the act, and no knowledge of it until 
a short time since. I am now doing all I can to 
procure your son’s speedy release. My husband’s 
action has been perfectly legal, and we, who would 
temper justice with mercy, must do so in a legal 
way. Permit me to introduce you to my friend, Mr. 


1 62 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

Melville. He can both advise us and carry out such 
arrangements as are necessary and Mrs. Haldane saw 
that Mrs. Arnot was accompanied by a gentleman, 
whom in her distress she had not hitherto noticed. 

The janitor now opened the door, and ushered 
them into a very plain apartment, used both as an 
office and reception-room. Mrs. Haldane was so 
overcome by her emotion that her friend led her to 
a chair, and continued her reassuring words in a low 
voice designed for her ears alone : 

“ Mr. Melville is a lawyer, and knows how to man- 
age these matters. You may trust him implicitly. 

I will give security for your son’s future appearance, 
should it be necessary, and I am quite satisfied it 
will not be, as my husband has promised me that he 
will not prosecute if the money is refunded.” 

“ I would have paid ten times the amount — any 
thing rather than have suffered this public disgrace,” 
sobbed the poor woman, who, true to her instincts 
and life-long habit of thought, dwelt more upon the 
consequent shame of her son’s act than its moral 
character. 

“ Mr. Melville says he will give bail in his own 
name for me,” resumed Mrs. Arnot, as, of course, 
I do not wish to appear to be acting in opposition 
to my husband. Indeed, I am not, for he is willing 
that some such an arrangement should be made. He 
has very many in his employ, and feels that he must 
be governed by rigid rules. Mr. Melville assures 
me that he can speedily effect Egbert’s release. 
Perhaps it will save you pain to go at once to our 
house and meet your son there.” 


MR. ARNOT'S SYSTEM DORR'S BADLY. 163 

** No,” replied the mother, rising, “ I wish to see 
him at once. 1 do appreciate your kindness, but I 
cannot go to the place which shelters your husband. 
I can never forgive him. Nor can I go to a hotel. I 
would rather stay in this prison until I can hide 
myself and my miserable son in our own home O, 
how dark and dreadful are God’s ways ! To think 
that the boy that I had brought up in the Church, 
as it were, should show such unnatural depravity ! ’ 
Then, stepping to the door, she said to the under 

sheriff in waiting, “ Please take me to my son at 

once, if possible.” 

“ Would you like me to go with you?” asked Mrs. 
Arnot, gently. 

“ Yes, yes! for I may faint on the way. _ O, how 
differently this day is turning out from what I 
expected! I was in hopes that Egbert could join 

me in a little trip to New York, and I find him in 

prison ! ” 


i64 knight of the nineteenth century. 


CHAPTER XV. 

HALDANE’S RESOLVE . 

I T was not in accordance with nature nor with 
Haldane’s peculiar temperament that he should 
remain long under a stony paralysis of shame and 
despair. Though tall and manlike in appearance, he 
was not a man. Boyish traits and impulses still lin- 
gered ; indeed, they had been fostered and maintained 
longer than usual by a fond and indulgent mother. It 
was not an evidence of weakness, but rather a whole- 
some instinct of nature, that his thoughts should gra- 
dually find courage to go to that mother as his only 
source of comfort and help. She, at least, would not 
scorn him, and with her he might find a less dismal 
refuge than his narrow cell, should it be possible to 
escape imprisonment. If it were not, he was too 
young and unacquainted with misfortune not to long 
for a few kind words of comfort. 

He did not even imagine that Mrs. Arnot, the wife 
of his employer, would come near him in his deep 
disgrace. Even the thought of her kindness and his 
requital of it now stung him to the quick, and he 
fairly writhed as he pictured to himself the scorn that 
must have been on Laura’s face as she saw him on 
his way to prison like a common thief. 


HALDANE'S RESOLVE. 


165 


As he remembered how full of rich promise life 
was but a few days since, and how all had changed 
even more swiftly and unexpectedly than the gro- 
tesque events of a horrid dream, he bowed his head 
in his hands and sobbed like a grief-stricken child. 

“ O mother, mother,” he groaned, “ if I could 
only hear your voice and feel your touch, a little of 
this crushing weight might be lifted off my heart ! ” 

Growing calmer after a time, he was able to con- 
sider his,, situation more connectedly, and he was 
about to summon the sheriff in charge of the prison, 
that he might telegraph his mother, when he heard 
her voice as, in the company of that official, she was 
seeking her way to him. 

He shrank back in his cell. His heart beat vio- 
lently as he heard the rustle of her dress. The sheriff 
unlocked the grated iron door which led to the long, 
narrow corridor into which the cells opened, and to 
which prisoners had access during the day. 

“ He’s in that cell, ladies,” said the officer’s voice, 
and then, with commendable delicacy, withdrew, 
having first ordered the prisoners in his charge to 
their cells. 

“ Lean upon my arm,” urged a gentle voice, which 
Haldane recognized as that of Mrs. Arnot. 

“ O, this is awful ! ” moaned the stricken woman ; 
“ this is more than / can endure.” 

The pronoun she used threw a chill on the heart 
of her son but when she tottered to the door of his 
cell he sprang forward, with the low, appealing cry, 

“ Mother ! ’ 

But the poor gentlewoman was so overcome that 


1 66 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

she sank down on a bench by the door, and, with her 
face buried in her hands, as if to shut out a vision 
that would blast her, she rocked back and forth in 
anguish, as she groaned, 

“O Egbert, Egbert! you have disgraced me, you 
have disgraced your sisters, you have disgraced 
yourself beyond remedy, O God ! what have I done 
to merit this awful, this overwhelming disaster ? ” 

With deep pain and solicitude Mrs. Arnot watched 
the young man’s face as the light from t]ie grated 
window fell upon it. The appeal that trembled in 
his voice had been more plainly manifest in his face, 
which had worn an eager and hopeful expression, 
and even suggested the spirit of the little child when 
in some painful emergency it turns to its first and 
natural protector. 

But most marked was the change caused by the 
mother’s lamentable want of tact and self-control, for 
that same face became stony and sullen. Instead of 
showing a spirit which deep distress and crushing 
disaster had made almost childlike in its readiness to 
receive a mother’s comfort once more, he suddenly 
became, in appearance, a hardened criminal. 

Mrs. Arnot longed to undo by her kindness the 
evil which her friend was unwittingly causing, but 
could not come between mother and son. She stoop- 
ed down, however, and whispered, 

“ Mrs. Haldane, speak kindly to your boy. He 
looked to you for sympathy. Do not let him feel 
that you, like the world, are against him.” 

“ O no,” said Mrs. Haldane, her sobs ceasing some- 
what, ** I mean to do my duty by him. He shall al- 



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HALDANE'S RESOLVE. 


167 


ways have a good home, but oh ! what a blight and a 
shadow he has brought to that home ! That I should 
have ever lived to see this day ! O Egbert, Egbert I 
your sisters will have to live like nuns, for they can 
never even go out upon the street again ; and to think 
that the finger of scorn should be pointed after you 
in the city where your father made our name so hon- 
orable ! ” 

Tt never shall be,” said Haldane coldly. “You 
have only to leave me in prison to be rid of me a 
long time.’ 

“ Leave you in prison ! ” exclaimed his mother ; 
“I would as soon stay here myself. No; through 
Mrs. Arnot’s kindness, arrangements are made for 
your release. I shall then take you to our miserable 
home as soon as possible.” 

“ I am not going home.” 

“ Now, this is too much ! What will you do ? ” 

“ I shall remain in this city,” he replied, speaking 
from an angry impulse. “ It was here I fell and 
covered myself with shame, and I shall here fight 
my way back to the position I lost. The time shall 
come when you will no longer say I’m a disgrace to 
you and my sisters. My heart was breaking, and 
the first word you greet me with is ‘ disgrace ; ’ and if 
I went home, disgrace would always be in your mind, 
if not upon your tongue. I should have the word 
and thought kept before me till I went mad. If I 
go home all my old acquaintances would sneer at 
me as a mean-spirited cur, whose best exploit was to 
get in jail, and when his mother obtained his release 
he could do nothing more manly than hide behind 


1 68 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

her apron the rest of his days. As far as I can 
judge, you and my sisters would have no better 
opinion of me. I have been a wicked fool, I admit, 
but I was not a deliberate thief. I did hope for a 
little comfort from you. But since all the world is 
against me. I’ll face and fight the world. I have 
been dragged through these streets, the scorn of 
every one, and I will remain in this city until I com- 
pel the respect of its proudest citizen.” 

The moment he ceased his passionate utterance, 
Mrs. Arnot said kindly and gravely : 

“ Egbert, you are mistaken. There was no scorn 
in my eyes, but rather deep pity and sorrow. 
While your course has been very wrong, you have 
no occasion to despair, and as long as you will try 
to become a true man you shall have my sympa- 
thy and friendship. You do not understand your 
mother. She loves you as truly as ever, and is will- 
ing to make any sacrifice for you. Only, her fuller 
knowledge of the world makes her realize more truly 
than you yet can the consequences of your act. The 
sudden shock has overwhelmed her. Her distress 
shows how deeply she is wounded, and you should 
try to comfort her by a lifetime of kindness.” 

** The best way I can comfort her is by deeds that 
will wipe out the memory of my disgrace ; and,” he 
continued, his impulsive, sanguine spirit kindling 
with the thought and prospect, “ I will regain all 
and more than I have lost. The time shall come 
when neither she nor my sisters will have occasion 
to blush for me, nor to seclude themselves from the 
world because of their relation to me.” 


HALDANE S EE SOLVE. 


169 

** I should think my heart was sufficiently crushed 
and broken already,” Mrs. Haldane sobbed, “ with- 
out your adding to its burden by charging me with 
being an unnatural mother. I cannot understand 
how a boy brought up as religiously as you have 
been can show such strange depravity. The idea 
that a child of mine could do any thing which would 
bring him to such a place as this ! ” 

His mother’s words and manner seemed to exas* 
perare her son beyond endurance, and he exclaimed 
passionately, 

Well, curse it all ! I am here. What’s the use 
of harping on that any longer ? Can’t you listen 
when I say I want to retrieve myself? As to my 
religious bringing up, it never did me a particle of 
good. If you had whipped my infernal nonsense 
out of me, and made me mind when I was little — 
There, there, mother,” he concluded more consid- 
erately, as she began to grow hysterical under his 
words, ** do, for God’s sake, be more composed ! 
We can’t help what has happened now. I’ll either 
change the world’s opinion of me, or else get out of it.” 

** How can I be composed when you talk in so 
dreadful a manner? You can’t change the world’s 
opinion. It never forgives and never forgets. It’s 
the same as if you had said. I'll either do what is 
impossible or throw away my life ! ” 

“ My dear Mrs. Haldane,” said Mrs. Arnot gently, 
but firmly, “your just and natural grief is such that 
you cannot now judge correctly and wisely concerning 
this matter. The emergency is so unexpected and 
so grave that neither you nor your son should form 
8 


170 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH K.ENTURY. 

opinions or make resolves until there has been time 
for calmer thought. Let me take you home with 
me now, and as soon as Egbert is released he can 
join you there.” 

“ No, Mrs. Arnot,” said Haldane decidedly ; “ I 
shall never enter your parlor again until I can enter 
it as a gentleman, — as one whom your other guests, 
should I meet them, would recognize as a gentleman. 
Your kindness is as great as it is unexpected, but I 
shall take no mean advantage of it.” 

Well, then,"’ said Mrs. Arnot with a sigh, ** no- 
thing can be gained by prolonging this painful inter- 
view. We are detaining Mr. Melville, and delaying 
Egbert’s release. Come, Mrs. Haldane ; I can take 
you to the private entrance of a quiet hotel, where 
you can be entirely secluded until you are ready to 
return home. Egbert can come there as soon as 
the needful legal forms are complied with.” 

No,” said the young man with his former deci- 
sion, “ mother and I must take leave of each other 
here. Mother wants no jail-birds calling on her at 
the hotel. When I have regained my social footing 
— when she is ready to take my arm and walk up 
Main-street of this city — then she shall see me as 
olten as she wishes. It was my own cursed folly 
that brought me to the gutter, and if mother will 
pay the price of my freedom, I will alone and un- 
aided make my way back among the highest and 
proudest.*" 

I sincerely hope you may win such a position,” 
said Mrs. Arnot gravely, “ and it is not impossible 
for you to do so, though I wish you would make 


HALDANE* S RE SOL VE, 


171 

the attempt in a different spirit ; but please remem- 
ber that these considerations do not satisfy and com- 
fort a mother’s heart. You should think of all her 
past kindness ; you should realize how deeply you 
have now wounded her, and strive with tenderness 
and patience to mitigate the blow.” 

Mother, I am sorry, more sorry than you can 
ever know,” he said, advancing to her side and tak- 
ing her hand, “ and I have been bitterly punished ; 
but I did not mean to do what I did ; I was drunk — ” 

“ Drunk ! ” gasped the mother, “ merciful Heaven ! ” 
“Yes, drunk — may the next drop Of wine I take 
choke me ! — and I did not know what I was doing. 
But do not despair of me. I feel that I have it in 
me to make a man yet. Go now with Mrs. Arnot, 
and aid in her kind efforts to procure my release,^ 
When you have succeeded, return home, and think 
of me as well as you can until I make you think bet- 
ter,” and he raised and kissed her with something 
like tenderness, and then placed within Mrs. Arnot’s 
arm the hand of the poor weak woman, who had 
become so faint and exhausted from her conflicting 
emotions that she submitted to be led away after a 
feeble remonstrance. 

Mrs. Arnot sent Mr. Melville to the prisoner, and 
also the food she had brought. She then took Mrs. 
Haldane to a hotel, where, in the seclusion of her 
room, she could have every attention and comfort. 
With many reassuring words she promised to call 
later in the day, and if possible bring with her the 
unhappy cause of the poor gentlewoman’s distress. 


172 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE IMPULSES OF WOUNDED PRIDE. 

HAT which at first was little more than an im- 



X pulse, caused by wounded pride, speedily de- 
veloped into a settled purpose, and Haldane would 
leave his prison cell fully bent on achieving great 
things. In accordance with a tendency in impulsive 
natures, he reacted from something like despair into 
quite a sanguine and heroic mood. He would “ face 
and fight the world, ay, and conquer it, too.” He 
would go out into the streets which had witnessed 
his disgrace, and, penniless, empty-handed, dowered 
only with shame, he would prove his manhood by 
winning a position that would compel respect and 
more than respect. 

Mrs. Arnot, who returned immediately to the pri- 
son, w’as puzzled to know how to deal with him. 
She approved of his resolution to remain in Hillaton, 
and of his purpose to regain respect and position on 
the very spot, as it were, where, by his crime and 
folly, he had lost both. She was satisfied that such 
a course promised far better for the future than a re- 
turn to his mother’s luxurious home. With all its 
beauty and comfort it would become to him almost 
inevitably a slough, both of “ despond ” and of dissi- 


THE IMPULSES OF WOUNDED PRIDE 173 

pation — dissipation of the worst and most hopeless 
kind, wherein the victim’s ruling motive is to get rid 
of self. The fact that the young man was capable 
of turning upon and facing a scornful and hostile 
world was a good and hopeful sign. If he had been 
willing to slink away with his mother, bent only on 
escape from punishment and on the continuance of 
animal enjoyment, Mrs. Arnot would have felt that 
his nature was not sufficiently leavened with man- 
hood to give hope of reform. 

But while his action did suggest hope, it also con- 
tained elements of discouragement. She did not find 
fault with what he proposed to do, but with the spi- 
rit in which he was entering on his most difficult task. 
His knowledge of the world was so crude and par- 
tial that he did not at all realize the herculean labor 
that he now became eager to attempt ; and he was 
bent on accomplishing every thing in a way that 
would minister to his own pride, and proposed to 
be under obligations to no one. 

Mrs. Arnot, with, her deep and long experience, 
knew how vitally important it is that human endea- 
vor should be supplemented by divine aid, and she 
sighed deeply as she saw that the young man not 
only ignored this need, but did not even seem con- 
scious of it. Religion was to him a matter of form 
and profession, to which he was utterly indifferent. 
The truth that God helps the distressed as a father 
helps and comforts his child, was a thought that 
then made no impression on him whatever. God 
and all relating to him were abstractions, and he felt 
that the emergency was too pressing, too imperative, 


174 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

for considerations that had no practical and imme- 
diate bearing upon his present success. 

Indeed, such was his pride and self-confidence, 
that he refused to receive from Mrs. Arnot, and even 
from his mother, any thing more than the privilege 
of going out empty-handed into the city which was 
to become the arena of his future exploits. 

He told Mrs. Arnot the whole story, and she had 
hoped that she could place his folly and crime before 
him in its true moral aspects, and by dealing faith- 
fully, yet kindly, with him, awaken his conscience. 
But she had the tact to discover very soon that such 
effort was now worse than useless. It was not his 
conscience, but his pride, that had been chiefly 
wounded. He felt his disgrace, his humiliation, in 
the eyes of men almost too keenly, and he was con- 
sumed with desire to regain society’s favor. But he* 
did not feel his sin. To God’s opinion of him he 
scarcely gave a thought. He regarded his wrong 
act in the light of a sudden and grave misfortune 
rather than as the manifestation of a foul and inhe- 
rent disease of his soul. He had lost his good name 
as a man loses his property, and believed that he, in 
his own strength, and without any moral change 
could regain it. 

When parting at the prison, Mrs. Arnot gave him 
her hand, and said : 

“ I trust that your hopes may be realized, and 
your efforts meet with success ; but I cannot help 
warning you that I fear you do not realize what you 
are attempting. The world is not only very cold, 
but also suspicious and wary in its disposition toward 


THE IMPULSES OF WOUNDED PRIDE. 


175 


those who have forfeited its confidence. I cannot 
learn that you have any definite plans or prospects. 
I have never been able to accomplish much without 
God’s help. You not only seem to forget your need 
of Him, but you are not even willing to receive aid 
from me or your own mother. I honor and respect 
you for making the attempt upon which you are 
bent, but I fear that pride rather than wisdom is 
your counselor in carrying out your resolution ; and 
both God’s word and human experience prove that 
pride goes but a little way before a fall.” 

I have reached a depth,” replied Haldane, bit- 
terly, “ from whence I cannot fall ; and it will be 
hereafter some consolation to remember that I was 
not lifted out of the mire, but that I got out. If I 
cannot climb up again it were better I perished in 
the gutter of my shame.” 

“ I am sorry, Egbert, that you cut yourself off 
from the most hopeful and helpful relations which 
you can ever sustain. A father helps his children 
through their troubles, and so God is desirous of 
helping us. There are some things which we cannot 
do alone — it is not meant that we should. God is 
ever willing to help those who are down, and Chris- 
tians are not worthy of the name unless they are also 
willing. It is our duty to make every effort of which 
we ourselves are capable ; but this is only half our 
duty. Since our tasks are beyond our strength and 
ability, we are equally bound to receive such human 
aid as God sends us, and, chief of all, to ask daily, 
and sometimes hourly, that His strength be made 
perfect in our weakness. But there are some lessons 


176 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

which are only learned by experience. I shall feel 
deeply grieved if you do not come or send for me in 
any emergency or time of special need. In parting, 
I have one favor to ask, and I think I have a right 
to ask it. I wish you to go and see your mo- 
ther, and» spend at least an hour with her before 
she returns home. As a matter of manly duty, be 
kind and gentle. Remember how deeply you have 
wounded her, and that you are under the most sacred 
obligations to endure patiently all reproaches and 
expressions of grief. If you will do this you will do 
much to regain my respect, and it will be a most ex- 
cellent step toward a better life. You can gain so- 
ciety’s respect again only by doing your duty, and 
nothing can be duty more plainly than this.” 

After a moment’s hesitation he said, “ I do not 
think an interview with mother now will do either of 
us any good ; but, as you say, you have a right to ask 
this, and much more, of me. I will go to her hotel 
and do the best I can ; but somehow mother don’t 
understand human nature — or, at least, my nature 
— and when I have been doing wrong she always 
makes me feel like doing worse.” 

“ If you are to succeed in your endeavor you are 
not to act as you feel. You are to do right. Remem* 
ber that in your effort to win the position you wish 
in this city, you start with at least one friend to 
whom you can always come. Good-by,” and Mrs. 
Arnot returned home weary and sad from the day’s 
unforeseen experiences. 

In answer to Laura’s eager questioning, she related 
what had happened quite fully, vailing only that 


THE IMPULSES OF WOUNDED PRIDE, 


177 


which a delicate regard for others would lead her to 
pass in silence. She made the young girl womanly 
by treating her more as a woman and a companion 
than as a child. In Mrs. Arnot’s estimation her niece 
had reached an age when her innocence and simpli- 
city could not be maintained by efforts to keep her 
shallow and ignorant, but by revealing to her life in 
its reality, so that she might wisely and gladly choose 
the good from its happy contrast with evil and its 
inevitable suffering. 

The innocence that walks blindly on amid earth’s 
snares and pitfalls is an uncertain possession ; the in- 
nocence that recognizes evil, but turns from it with 
dread and aversion, is priceless. 

Mrs. Arnot told Laura the story of the young 
man’s folly substantially as he had related it to her, 
but she skillfully showed how one comparatively 
venial thing had led to another, until an act had been 
committed which might have resulted in years of 
imprisonment. 

Let this sad and miserable affair teach you,” 
said she, “ that we are never safe when we commence 
to do wrong or act foolishly. We can never tell to 
what disastrous lengths we may go when we leave 
the path of simple duty.” 

While she mentioned Haldane’s resolution to re- 
gain, if possible,' his good name and position, she 
skillfully removed from the maiden’s mind all roman- 
tic notions concerning the young man and her rela- 
tion to his conduct. 

Laura’s romantic nature would always be a source 
both of strength and weakness. While, on the one 

8 * 


178 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

hand, it rendered her incapable of a sordid and cal- 
culating scheme of life, on the other, it might lead to 
feeling and action prejudicial to her happiness. Mrs. 
Arnot did not intend that she should brood over 
Haldane until her vivid imagination should weave a 
net out of his misfortunes which might insnare her 
heart. It was best for Laura that she should receive 
her explanations of life in very plain prose, and the 
picture that her aunt presented of Haldane and his 
prospects was prosaic indeed. He was shown to be 
but an ordinary young man, with more than ordinari- 
ly bad tendencies. While she commended his effort 
in itself, she plainly stated how wanting it was in the 
true elements of success, and how great were her 
fears that it would meet with utter failure. Thus 
the affair ended, as far as Laura was concerned, in a 
sincere pity for her premature lover, and a mild and 
natural interest in his future welfare — but nothing 
more. 

Mr. Arnot uttered an imprecation on learning that 
his wife had gone security for Haldane. But when 
he found that she had acted through Mr. Melville, 
in such a way that the fact need not become known, 
he concluded to remain silent concerning the mat- 
ter. He and his wife met at the dinner-table that 
evening as if nothing unusual had occurred, both 
having concluded to ignore all that had transpired, 
if possible. Mrs. Arnot saw that her husband had 
only acted characteristically, and, from his point of 
view, correctly. Perhaps his recent experience would 
prevent him from being unduly harsh again should 
there ever be similar cause, which was quite improba- 


THE IMPULSES OF WOUNDED PRIDE. 


179 


ble. Since it appeared that she could minister to 
his happiness in no other way save through her 
property, she decided to leave him the one meager 
gratification of which he was capable. 

The future in its general aspects may here be an- 
ticipated by briefly stating that the echoes of the 
affair gradually died away. Mr. Arnot, on the re- 
ceipt of a check for one thousand dollars from Mrs 
Haldane’s lawyer, was glad to procure Mr. Melville’s 
release from the bond for which his wife was pledged, 
by assuring the legal authorities that he would not 
prosecute. The superior young man, who made free 
drinks the ambition of his life, had kept himself well 
informed, and on learning of the order for his arrest 
left town temporarily for parts unknown. The pa- 
pers made the most of the sensation, to the disgust 
of all concerned, but reference to the affair soon 
dwindled down to an occasional paragraph. The 
city press concluded editorially that the great manu- 
facturer had been harsh only seemingly, for the sake 
of effect, and with the understanding that his wife 
wf uld show a little balancing kindness to the culprit 
and his aristocratic mother. That Haldane should 
still remain in the city was explained on the ground 
that he was ashamed to go home, or that he was not 
wanted there. 


i8o KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


CHAPTER XVII. 

AT ODDS WITH THE WORLD. 

H aldane kept his promise to spend an hour 
with his mother. While he told her the truth 
concerning his folly, he naturally tried to place his 
action in the best light possible. After inducing her 
to take some slight refreshment, he obtained a close 
carriage, and saw her safely on the train which would 
convey her to the city wherein she resided. During 
the interview she grew much more composed, and 
quite remorseful that she had not shown greater 
consideration for her son’s feelings, and she urged 
and even entreated him to return home with her. 
He remained firm, however, in his resolution, and 
would receive from her only a very small sum of 
money, barely enough to sustain him until he could 
look around for employment. 

His mother shared Mrs. Arnot’s distrust, greatly 
doubting the issue of his large hopes and vague 
plans ; but she could only assure him that her home 
to which she returned crushed and disconsolate, was 
also his. 

But he felt that return was impossible. He would 
rather wander to the ends of the earth than shut 
himself up with his mother and sisters, for he fore- 


AT ODDS WITH THE WORLD. i8i 

saw that their daily moans and repinings would be 
daily torture. It would be even worse to appear 
among his old acquaintances and companions, and 
be taunted with the fact that his first venture from 
home ended in a common jail. The plan of drifting 
away to parts unknown, and of partially losing his 
identity by changing his name, made a cold, dreary 
impression upon him, like the thought of annihila- 
tion, and thus his purpose of remaining in Hillaton, 
and winning victory on the very ground of his de- 
feat, grew more satisfactory. 

But he soon began to learn how serious, how dis- 
heartening, is the condition of one who finds society 
arrayed against him. 

It is the fashion to inveigh against the ** cold and 
pitiless world ; ” but the world has often much excuse 
for maintaining this character. As society is now 
constituted, the consequences of wrong-doing are 
usually terrible and greatly to be dreaded ; and all 
who have unhealthful cravings for forbidden things 
should be made to realize this. Society very natu- 
rally treats harshly those who permit their pleasures 
and passions to endanger its very existence. People 
who have toilsomely and patiently erected their 
homes and placed therein their treasures do not tol- 
erate with much equanimity those who appear to 
have no other calling than that of recklessly playing 
with fire. The well-to-do, conservative world has no 
inclination to make things pleasant for those who 
propose to gratify themselves at any and every cost; 
and if the culprit pleads, “ I did not realize— I meant 
no great harm,” the retort comes back, “ But you do 


1 82 KNIGHT OP THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

the harm ; you endanger every thing. If you have 
not sense or principle enough to act wisely and well, 
do not expect us to risk our fortunes with either 
fools or knaves.” And the man or the woman who 
has preferred pleasure or passing gratification or 
transient advantage to that priceless possession, a 
good name, has little ground for complaint. If so- 
ciety readily condoned those grave offenses which 
threaten chaos, thousands who are now restrained 
by salutary fear would act out disastrously the evil 
lurking in their hearts. As long as the instincf of 
self-preservation remains, the world w”il seem cold 
and pitiless. 

But it often is so to a degree that cannot be too 
severely condemned. The world is the most souk 
less of all corporations. In dealing with the crimi- 
nal or unfortunate classes it generalizes to such an 
extent that exceptional cases have little chance of a 
special hearing. If by any means, however, such a 
hearing can be obtained, the world is usually just, 
and often quite generous. But in the main it says 
to all : “ Keep your proper places in the ranks. If 
you fall out, we must leave you behind ; if you make 
trouble, we must abate you as a nuisance.” This 
certainty has the effect of keeping many in their 
places who otherwise would drop out and make 
trouble, and is, so far, wholesome. And yet, in spite 
of this warning truth, the wayside of life is lined 
with those who, for some reason, have become dis- 
abled and have fallen out of their places ; and miser- 
ably would many of them perish did not the Spirit 
of Him who came to seek and save the lost ” ani- 


A T ODDS WITH THE WORLD. 


183 

mate true followers like Mrs. Arnot, leading them 
likewise to go out after the lame, the wounded, and 
the morally leprous. 

Haldane was sorely wounded, but he chose to 
make his appeal wholly to the world. Ignoring 
Heaven, and those on earth representing Heaven’s 
forgiving and saving mercy, he went out alone, in 
the spirit of pride and self-confidence, to deal with 
those who would meet him solely on the ground of 
self-interest. How this law works against such as 
have shown themselves unworthy of trust, he at once 
began to receive abundant proof. 

He returned to the hotel whence he had just taken 
his mother, but the proprietor declined to give him 
lodgings. It was a house that cherished its character 
for quietness and eminent respectability, and a young 
gambler and embezzler just out of prison would 
prove an ill-omened guest. On receiving a cold and 
peremptory refusal to his application, and in the pre- 
sence of several others, Haldane stalked haughtily 
away ; but there was misgiving and faintness at his 
heart. Such a public rebuff was a new and strange 
experience. 

With set teeth and lips compressed he next re- 
solved to go to the very hotel where he had commit- 
ted his crime, and from that starting-point fight his 
way up. He found the public room more than usual- 
ly well filled with loungers, and could not help discov- 
ering, as he entered, that he was the subject of their 
loud and unsavory conversation. Evening Spy 

had just been read, and all were very busy discussing 
the scandal. As the knowledge of his presence and 


1 84 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

identity was speedily conveyed to one and another 
in loud whispers, the noisy tongues ceased, and the 
young man found himself the center of an embarrass- 
ing amount of observation. But he endeavored to 
give the idlers a defiant and careless glance as he 
walked up to the proprietor and asked for a room. 

“ No, sir! ” replied that virtuous individual, with 
sharp emphasis ; “ you have had a room of me once 
too often. It’s not my way to have gamblers, bloats, 
and jail-birds hanging around my place, — * not if 
the court knows herself; and she thinks she does.’ 
You’ve done all you could to give my respectable, 
first-class house the name of a low gambling hell. 
The evening paper even hints that some one connect- 
ed with the house had a hand in your being plucked. 
You’ve damaged me hundreds of dollars, and if you 
ever show your face within my doors again I’ll have 
you arrested.” 

Haldane was stung to the quick, and retorted 
vengefully : 

‘‘ Perhaps the paper is right. I was introduced to 
the blacklegs in your bar-room, and by a scamp who 
was a habitual lounger here. They got their cards 
of you, and, having made me drunk, and robbed me 
in one of your rooms, they had no trouble in getting 
away.” 

Do you make any such charge against me ? ” 
bellowed the landlord, starting savagely forward. 

‘‘I say, as the paper suys, perhaps*' replied Hal- 
dane, standing his ground, but quivering with rage ; 
“ I shall give you no ground for a libel suit ; but if 
you will come out in the street you shall have all the 


A T ODDS WITH THE WORLD, 


185 

satisfaction you want ; and if you lay the weight of 
your finger on me here, I’ll damage you worse than 
I did last night.” 

“ How dare you come here to insult me ? ” said 
the landlord, but keeping now at a safe distance from 
the incensed youth. Some one, go for a policeman 
for the fellow is out of jail years too soon.” 

I did not come here to insult you, I came, as 
every one has a right to come, to ask for a room, for 
which I meant to pay your price, and you insulted 
me. 

Well, you can’t have a room.” 

“ If you had quietly said that and no more in the 
first place, there would have been no trouble. But I 
want you and every one else to understand that I 
won’t be struck, if I am down ; ” and he turned on 
his heel and strode out of the house, followed by a 
volley of curses from the enraged landlord and the 
bar-tender, who had smirked so agreeably the even- 
ing before. 

A distorted account of this scene — published in 
the Courier the following day, in connection with a 
detailed account of the whole miserable affair — added 
considerably to the ill repute thait already burdened 
Haldane ; for it was intimated that he was as ready 
for a street brawl as for any other species of lawless- 
ness. 

The Courier^ having had the nose of its represent- 
ative demolished by Haldane, was naturally preju- 
diced against him ; and, influenced by its darkly- 
colored narrative, the citizens shook their heads over 
the young man, and concluded that he was a danger- 


1 86 K NIGH 7' OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

ous character, who had become unnaturally and pre- 
cociously depraved ; and there was quite a gene^ral 
hope that Mr. Arnot would not fail to prosecute, so 
that the town might be rid of one who promised to 
continue a source of trouble. 

The Spy^ a rival paper, showed a tendency to dwell 
on the extenuating circumstances. But it is so much 
easier for a community to believe evil rather than 
good of a person, that mere excuses and apologies, 
and the suggestion that the youth had been victim- 
ized, had little weight. Besides, the world shows a 
tendency to detest weak fools even more than knaves. 

After his last bitter experience Haldane felt un- 
willing to venture to another hotel, and he endeavor- 
ed to find a quiet boarding-place ; but as soon as he 
mentioned his name, the keepers, male and female, 
suddenly discovered that they had no rooms. Night 
was near, and his courage was beginning to fail him, 
when he at last found a thrifty gentlewoman who 
gave far more attention to her housewifely cares 
than to the current news. She readily received the 
well-dressed stranger, and showed him to his room. 
Haldane did not hide his name from her, for he re- 
solved to spend the night in the street before drop- 
ping a name which now seemed to turn people from 
him as if contagion lurked in it, and he was relieved 
to find that, as yet, it had to her no disgraceful asso- 
ciations. He was bent on securing one good night’s 
rest, and so excused himself from going down to 
supper, lest he snould meet some one that knew him. 
After nightfall he slipped out to an obscure restau- 
rant for his supper. 


AT ODDS WITH THE WORLD. 187 

His precaution, however, was vain, for on his re- 
turn to his room he encountered in a hallway one of 
the loungers who had witnessed the recent scene at 
the hotel. After a second’s stare the man passed on 
down to the shabby-genteel parlor, and soon whist, 
novels, and papers were dropped, as the immaculate 
little community learned of the contaminating pres- 
ence beneath the same roof with themselves. 

‘‘ A man just out of prison ! A man merely re- 
leased on bail, and who would certainly be convicted 
when tried ! ” 

With a virtue which might have put “ Caesar’s 
wife ” to the blush, sere and withered gentlewomen 
pursed up their mouths, and declared that they 
could not sleep in the same house with such a dis 
reputable person. The thrifty landlady, whose prin 
ciple of success was the concentration of all her fac- 
ulties on the task of satisfying the digestive organs 
of her patrons, found herself for once at fault, and 
she was quite surprised to learn what a high-toned 
class of people she was entertaining. 

But, then, “ business is business.” Poor Haldane 
was but one uncertain lodger, and here were a dozen 
or more “ regulars ” arrayed against him. The sa- 
gacious woman was not long in climbing to the door 
of the obnoxious guest, and her very knock said, 
What are you doing here ? ” 

Haldane’s first thought was, “She is a woman ; 
she will not have the heart to turn me away.” He 
had become so weary and disheartened that his 
pride was failing him, and he was ready to plead for 
the chance of a little rest. Therefore he opened the 


1 88 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

door, and invited the landlady to enter in the most 
conciliating manner. But no such poor chaff would 
be of any avail with one of Mrs. Gruppins’ experi- 
ence, and looking straight before her, as if address- 
ing no one in particular, she said sententiously : 

** I wish this room vacated within a half hour.” 

‘‘ If you have the heart of a woman you will not 
send me out this rainy night. I am weary and sick 
in body and mind. I wouldn’t turn a dog out in the 
night and storm.” 

“ You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir,” said 
Mrs. Gruppins, turning on him indignantly ; to think 
that you should take advantage of a poor and de- 
fenseless widow, and me so inexperienced and igno- 
rant of the wicked world.” 

“ I did not take advantage of your ignorance. I 
told you who I was, and am able to pay for the 
room. In the morning I will leave your house, if 
you have so much objection to my remaining.” 

“ Why shouldn’t I object ? I never had such as 
you here before. All my boarders ” — she added in 
a louder tone, for the benefit of those who were lis- 
tening at the foot of the stairs — “ all my boarders 
are peculiarly respectable people, and I would not 
have them scandalized by your presence here another 
minute if I could help it.” 

“ How much do I owe you ? ” asked Haldane, in 
a tone that was harsh from its suppressed emotion. 

I don’t want any of your money — I don’t want 
any thing to do with people who are lodged at the 
expense of the State. If you took money last night, 
there is no telling what you will take to-night.” 


AT ODDS WITH THE WORLD. 189 

Haldane snatched his hat and rushed from the 
house, overwhelmed with a deeper and more terrible 
sense of shame and degradation' than he had ever 
imagined possible. He had become a pariah, and 
in bitterness of heart was realizing the truth. 


190 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE world’s verdict— our KNIGHT A CRIMINAL. 


FEW moments befoic his interview with the 



xjL thrifty and respectable Mrs. Gruppins, Haldane 
had supposed himself too weary to drag one foot 
after the other in search of another resting-place , 
and therefore his eager hope that that obdurate fe- 
male might not be gifted with the same quality of 
“in’ards” which Pat M’Cabe ascribed to Mr. Ar- 
not. He had, indeed, nearly reached the limit of 
endurance, for had he been in his best and most vig- 
orous condition, a day which taxed so terribly both 
body and mind would have drained his vitality to 
the point of exhaustion. As it was, the previous 
night’s debauch told against him like a term of ill- 
ness. He had since taken food insufficiently and 
irregularly, and was, therefore, in no condition to 
meet the extraordinary demands of the ordeal 
through which he was passing. Mental distress, 
moreover, is far more wearing than physical effort • 
and his anguish of mind had risen several times dur- 
ing the day almost to frenzy. 

In spite of all this, the sharp and pitiless tongue 
of Mrs. Gruppins goaded him again to the verge 
of desperation, and he strode rapidly and aimlessly 


THE WORLD* S VERDICT. 


191 


away, through the night and storm, with a wilder 
tempest raging in his breast. But the gust of feel- 
ing died away as suddenly as it had arisen, and left 
him ill and faint. A telegraph pole was near, and 
he leaned against it for support. 

“ Move on," growled a passing policeman. 

** Will you do me a kindness ? " asked Haldane ; ** I 
am poor and sick — a stranger. Tell me where I can 
hire a bed for a small sum." 

The policeman directed him down a side street, 
saying, ** You can get a bed at No. 13, and no ques- 
tions asked." 

There was unspeakable comfort in the last assur- 
ance, for it now seemed that he could hope to find 
a refuge only in places where ‘^no questions were 
asked." 

With difficulty the weary youth reached the house, 
and by paying a small extra sum was able to obtain 
a wretched little room to himself; but never did 
storm-tossed and endangered sailors enter a harbor’s 
quiet waters with a greater sense of relief than did 
Haldane as he crept up into this squalid nook, which 
would at least give him a little respite from the 
world’s terrible scorn. 

What a priceless gift for the unhappy, the unfor- 
tunate, — yes, and for the guilty, — is sleep ! Many 
seem to think of the body only as a clog, impeding 
mental action, — as a weight, chaining the spirit down. 
Were the mind, in its activity, independent of the 
body — were the wounded spirit unable to forget its 
pain — could the guilty conscience sting incessantly — 
then the chief human industry would come to be the 


192 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

erection of asylums for the insane. But by an un- 
fathomable mystery the tireless regal spirit has been 
blended with the flesh and blood of its servant, the 
body. In heaven, where there is neither sin nor pain, 
even the body becomes spiritual ; but on earth, where 
it so often happens, as in the case of poor Haldane, 
that to think and to remember is torture, it is a bless- 
ed thing that the body, formed from the earth, often 
becomes heavy as earth, and rests upon the spirit for 
a few hours at least, like the clods with which we fill 
the grave. 

The morning of the following day was quite well 
advanced when Haldane awoke from his long obli- 
vion, and, after regaining consciousness, he lay a full 
hour longer trying to realize his situation, and to 
think of some plan by which he might best recover 
his lost position. As he recalled all that had occur- 
red he began to understand the extreme difficulty of 
his task, and he even queried whether it were pos- 
sible for him to succeed. If the respectable would 
not even give him shelter, how could he hope that 
they would employ and trust him? 

After he had partaken of quite a hearty breakfast, 
however, his fortunes began to wear a less forbidding 
aspect. Endowed with youth, health, and, as he 
believed, with more than usual ability, he felt that 
there was scarcely occasion for despair. Some one 
would employ him — some one would give him an- 
other chance. He would take any respectable work 
that would give him a foothold, and by some vague, 
fortunate means, which the imagination of the young 
always supplies, he would achieve success that would 


THE WORLD^S VERDICT. 


193 


obliterate the memory of the past. Therefore, with 
flashes of hope in his heart, he started out to seek 
his fortune, and commenced applying at the various 
stores and offices of the city. 

So far from giving any encouragement, people were 
much surprised that he had the assurance to ask to 
be employed and trusted again. The majority dis- 
missed him coldly and curtly. A few mongrel na- 
tures, true to themselves, gave a snarling refusal. 
Then there were jovial spirits who must have their 
jest, even though the sensitive subject of it was tor- 
tured thereby — men who enjoyed quizzing Haldane 
before sending him on, as much as the old inquisi- 
tors relished a little recreation with hot pincers and 
thumb-screws. There were also conscientious people, 
whose worldly prudence prevented them from giving 
employment to one so damaged in^haracter, and yet 
who felt constrained to give some good advice. To 
this, it must be confessed, Haldane listened with 
veiy poor grace, thus extending the impression that 
he was a rather hopeless subject. 

‘'Good God!” he exclaimed, interrupting an old 
gentleman who was indulging in some platitudes to 
the effect that the “ way of the transgressor is hard ” 
— “ I would rather black your boots than listen to such 
talk. What I want is work — a chance to live honestly. 
What’s the use of telling a fellow not to go to the 
devil, and then practically send him to the devil ?” 

The old gentleman was somewhat shocked and 
offended, and coldly intimated that he had no need 
of the young man’s services. 

A few spoke kindly and seemed truly sorry fox 


194 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

him, but they either had rio employment to give, or, 
on business principles, felt that they could not intro- 
duce among their other assistants one under bonds 
to appear and be tried for a State-prison offense that 
was already the same as proved. 

After receiving rebuffs, and often what he regarded 
as insults, for hours, the young man’s hope began to 
fail him utterly. His face grew pale and haggard, 
not only from fatigue, but from that which tells dis- 
astrously almost as soon upon the body as upon the 
mind — discouragement. He saw that he had not yet 
fully realized the consequences of his folly. The deep 
and seemingly implacable resentment of society was 
a continued surprise. He was not conscious of being 
a monster of wickedness, and it seemed to him that 
after his bitter experience he would rather starve 
than again touch^what was not his own. 

But the trouble is, the world does not give us much 
credit for what we think, feel, and imagine, even if 
aware of our thoughts. It is what we do that forms 
public opinion ; and it was both natural and just that 
the public should have a very decided opinion of one 
who had recently shown himself capable of gamb- 
ling, drunkenness, and practical theft. 

And yet the probabilities were that if some kind, 
just man had bestowed upon Haldane both employ- 
ment and trust, with a chance to rise, his bitter les- 
son would have made him scrupulously careful to 
shun his peculiar temptations from that time for- 
ward. But the world usually regards one who has 
committed a crime as a criminal, and treats him as 
such. It cannot, if it would, nicely calculate the hid- 


THE WORLD* S VERDICT. 


*95 


den moral state and future chances. It acts on sound 
generalities, regardless of the exceptions ; and thus 
it often happens that men and women who at first 
can scarcely understand the world’s adverse opinion, 
are disheartened by it, and at last come to merit the 
worst that can be said or thought. 

As, at the time of his first arrest, Haldane had 
found his eyes drawn by a strange, cruel fascination 
to every scornful or curious face upon the street, so 
now he began to feel a morbid desire to know just 
what people were saying and thinking of him. He 
purchased both that day’s papers and those of the 
previous day, and, finding a little out-of-the-way 
' restaurant kept by a foreigner, he “ supped full with ” 
— what were to him emphatically — “ horrors ; ” the 
dinner and supper combined, which he had ordered, 
growing cold, in the meantime, and as uninviting as 
the place in which it was served. 

His eyes dwelt longest upon those sentences which 
were the most unmercifully severe, and they seemed 
to burn their way into his very soul. Was he in 
truth such a miscreant as the Courier described ? 
Mrs. Arnot had not shrunk from him as from contam- 
ination ; but she was different from all other people 
that he had known ; and he now remembered, also, 
that even she always referred to his act in a grave, 
troubled way, as if both its character and conse- 
quences weie serious indeed. 

There was such a cold, leaden despondency bur- 
dening his heart that he felt that he must have relief 
of some kind. Although remembering his rash in- 
vocation of fatal consequences to himself should he 


196 knight of the nineteenth century. 

touch again that which had brought him so much 
evil, he now, with a reckless oath, muttered that he 
‘‘ needed some liquor, and would have it.” 

Having finished a repast from which he would 
have turned in disgust before his fortunes had so 
greatly altered, and having gained a little temporary 
courage from the more than doubtful brandy served 
in such a place, he obtained permission to sit by the 
fire and smoke away the blustering evening, for he 
felt no disposition to face the world again that day. 
The German proprietor and his beer-drinking patrons 
paid no attention to the stranger, and as he sat off 
on one side by himself at a table, with a mug of 
lager before him, he was practically as much alone, 
and as lonely, as if in a desert. 

In a dull, vague way it occurred to him that it was 
very fitting that those present should speak in a 
foreign and unknown tongue, and act and look differ- 
ently from all classes of people formerly known to 
him. He was in a different world, and it was appro- 
priate that every thing should appear strange and 
unfamiliar. 

Finding that he could have a room in this same 
little, dingy restaurant-hotel, where he had obtained 
his supper, he resolved that he would torture him- 
self no more that night with thoughts of the past or 
iuture, but slowly stupefy himself into sleep. 


THE WORLD^S BEST OFFER— A PRISON. 


197 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE world’s best OFFER— A PRISON 
FTER a walk in the sweet April sunshine the 



xx following morning, a hearty breakfast, and a 
general rallying of the elastic forces of youth, Hal- 
dane felt that he had not yet reached the “ brink of 
dark despair.” 

Indeed, he had an odd sense of pride that he had 
survived the ordeal of the last two days, and still 
felt as well as he did. Although it was but an Arab’s 
life, in which every man’s hand seemed against him, 
yet he still lived, and concluded that he could con- 
tinue to live indefinitely. 

He did not go out again, as on the previous day, 
to seek employment, but sat down and tried to think 
his way into the future somewhat. 

The first question that presented itself was. Should 
he in any contingency return home to his mother? 

He was not long in deciding adversely, for it 
seemed to him to involve such a bitter mortification 
that he felt he would rather starve. 

Should he send to her for money ? 

That would be scarcely less humiliating, for it was 
equivalent to a confession that he could not even 
take care of himself, much less achieve all the brave 


198 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

things he had intimated. He was still more averse 
to going to Mrs. Arnot for what would seem charity 
to her husband and to every one else who might hear 
of it. The probability, also, that Laura would learn 
of such an appeal for aid made him scout the very 
thought. 

Should he go away among strangers, change his 
name, and commence life anew, unburdened by the 
weight which now dragged him down ? 

The thought of cutting himself off utterly from 
all whom he knew, or who cared for him, caused a 
cold, shivering sense of dread. It would, also, be a 
confession of defeat, an acknowledgment that he 
could not accomplish what he had promised to him- 
self and to others. He had, moreover, sufficient 
forethought to perceive that any success which he 
might achieve elsewhere, and under another name, 
would be such a slight and baseless fabric that a 
breath from one who now knew him could overturn 
it. He might lead an honorable life for years, and 
yet no one would believe him honorable after discov- 
ering that he was living under an alias and conceal- 
ing a crime. If he could build himself up in Hillaton 
he would be founded on the rock of truth, and need 
fear no disastrous reverses from causes against which 
he could not guard. 

Few can be more miserable than those who hold 
their fortunes and good name on sufferance — safe 
only in the power and disposition of others to keep 
some wretched secret ; and he is but little better off 
who fears that every stranger arriving in town may 
recognize in his face the features of one that, years 


THE WORLD* S BEST OFFER— A PRISON. 19 ^ 

before, by reason of some disgraceful act, fled from 
himself and all who knew him. The more Haldane 
thought upon the scheme of losing his identity, and 
of becoming that vague, and, as yet, unnamed stran- 
ger, who after years of exile would still be himself, 
though to the world not himself, the less attractive 
it became. 

He finally concluded that, as he had resolved to 
remain in Hillaton, he would keep his resolution, 
and that, as he had plainly stated his purpose to lift 
himself up by his own unaided efforts, he would do 
so if it were possible ; and if it were not, he would 
live the life of a laborer — a tramp, even — rather than 

skulk back,” as he expressed it, to those who were 
once kindred and companions. 

“ If I cannot walk erect to their front doors, I will 
never crawl around to the back entrances. If I ever 
must take alms to keep from starving, it will be from 
strangers. I shall never inflict myself as a dead 
weight and a painfully-tolerated infamy on any one. 
I was able to get myself into this disgusting slough, 
and if I haven’t brains and pluck enough to get my- 
self out, I will remain at this, my level, to which I 
have fallen.” 

Thus pride still counseled and controlled, and yet 
it was a kind of pride that inspires something like 
respect. It proved that there was much good metal 
in the crude, misshapen ore of his nature. 

But the necessity of doing something was urgent, 
for the sum he had been willing to receive from his 
mother was small, and rapidly diminishing. 

Among the possible activities in which he might 


200 KI^IGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

engage, that of writing for papers and magazines 
occurred to him, and the thought at once caught and 
fired his imagination. The mysteries of the literary 
world were the least known to him, and therefore it 
offered the greatest amount of vague promise and 
Indefinite hope. Here a path might open to both 
fame and fortune. The more he dwelt on the possi- 
bility the more it seemed to take the aspect of proba- 
bility. Under the signature of E. H. he would write 
thrilling tales, until the public insisted upon knowing 
the great unknown. Then he could reverse present 
experience by scorning those who had scorned him. 
He recalled all that he had ever read about genius 
toiling in its attic until the world was compelled to 
recognize and do homage to the regal mind. He 
would remain in seclusion also ; he would burn mid- 
night oil until he should come to be known as Hal- 
dane the brilliant writer instead of Haldane the 
gambler, drunkard, and thief. 

All on fire with his new project, he sallied forth to 
the nearest news stand, and selected two or three 
papers and magazines, whose previous interest to 
him and known popularity suggested that they were 
the best mediums in which he could rise upon the 
public as a literary star, all the more attractive be- 
cause unnamed and unknown. 

His next proceeding indicated a commendable 
amount of shrewdness, and proved that his roseate 
visions resulted more from ignorance and inexperi- 
ence than from innate foolishness. He carefully 
read the periodicals he had bought, in the hope of 
obtaining hints and suggestions from their contents 


THE WORLD* S BEST OFFER— A PRISON. 201 

which would aid him in producing acceptable manu- 
scripts. Some of the sketches and stories appeared 
very simple, the style flowing along as smoothly and 
limpidly as a summer brook through the meadows. 
He did not see why he could not write in a similai 
vein, peihaps more excitingly and interestingly. In 
his partial and neglected course of study he had not 
given much attention to belles-lettres^ and was not 
aware that the simplicity and lucid purity of thought 
which made certain pages so easily read were pro- 
duced by the best trained and most cultured talent 
existing among the regular contributors. 

He spent the evening and the greater part of a 
sleepless night in constructing a crude plot of a story, 
and, having procured writing materials, hastened 
through an early breakfast, the following morning, 
in his eagerness to enter on what now seemed a 
shining path to fame. 

He sat down and dipped his pen in ink. The 
blank, white page was before him, awaiting his bril- 
liant and burning thoughts ; but for some reason they 
did not and would not come. This puzzled him. 
He could dash off a letter, and write with ease a 
plain business statement. Why could he not com- 
mence and go on with his story ? 

“How do those other fellows commence?” he 
mentally queried, and he again carefully read and 
examined the opening paragraphs of two or three 
tales that had pleased him. They seemed to com- 
mence and go forward very easily and naturally. 
Why could not he do the same ? 

To his dismay he found that he could not. He 


202 KMGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


might as well have sat down and hoped to have 
deftly and skillfully constructed a watch as to have 
imitated the style of the stories that most interested 
him, for he had never formed even the power, much 
less the habit, of composition. 

After a few labored and inconsequential sentences, 
which seemed like crude ore instead of the molten, 
burning metal of thought left to cool in graceful 
molds, he threw aside his pen in despair. 

After staring despondently for a time at the blank 
page, which now promised to remain as blank as the 
future then seemed, the fact suddenly occurred to 
him that even genius often spurred its flagging or 
dormant powers by stimulants. Surely, then, he, in 
his pressing emergency, had a right to avail himself 
of this aid. A little brandy might awaken his imagi- 
nation, which would then kindle with his theme. 

At any rate, he had no objection to the brandy, 
and with this inspiration he again resumed his pen. 
He was soon astonished and delighted with the 
result, for he found himself writing with ease and 
fluency. His thoughts seemed to become vivid and 
powerful, and his story grew rapidly. As body and 
mind flagged, the potent genii in the black bottle 
again lifted and soared on with him until the marvel- 
ous tale was completed. 

He decided to correct the manuscript on the fol- 
lowing day, and was so complacent and hopeful over 
his performance that he scarcely noted that he was 
beginning to feel wretchedly from the inevitable re- 
action. The next day, with dull and aching head 
he tried to read what he had written, but found it 


THE WOKLD^S BEST OFFER— A PRISOH, 203 

dreary and disappointing work. His sentences and 
paragraphs appeared like clouds from which the 
light had faded ; but he explained this fact to him- 
self on the ground of his depressed physical state, 
and he went through his task with dogged persist- 
ence. 

He felt better on the following day, and with the 
aid of the bottle he resolved to give his inventive 
genius another flight. On this occasion he would 
attempt a longer story — one that would occupy him 
several days ; and he again stimulated himself up to 
a condition in which he found at least no lack of 
words. When he attained what he supposed was 
his best mood, he read over again the work of the 
preceding day, and was delighted to find that it now 
glowed with prismatic hues. In his complacency he 
at once dispatched it to the paper for which it was 
designed. 

Three or four days of alternate work and brooding 
passed, and if various and peculiar moods prove the 
possession of genius, Haldane certainly might claim 
it. Between his sense of misfortune and disgrace, 
and the fact that his funds were becoming low, on 
one hand, and his towering hopes and shivering fears 
concerning his literary ventures, on the other, he 
was emphatically in what is termed “ a state of 
mind ” continuously. These causes alone were suffix, 
cient to make mental serenity impossible ; but the 
after-effects of the decoction from which he obtained 
his inspiration were even worse, and after a week’s 
work the thought occurred to him more than once 
that if he pursued a literary life, either his genius or 


204 t^^NIGlIT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

that which he imbibed as its spur would consume 
him utterly. 

By the time the first two stories were finished he 
found that it would be necessary to supplement the 
labors of his pen. He would have to wait at least a 
few days before he could hope for any returns, even 
though he had urged in his accompanying notes 
prompt acceptance and remittance for their value. 

He went to the office of the Evening Spy^ the 
paper which had shown some leniency toward 
him, and offered his services as writer, or reporter ; 
and, although taught by harsh experience not to 
hope for very much, he was a little surprised at the 
peremptory manner in which his services were de- 
clined. His face seemed to ask an explanation, and 
the editor said briefly, 

“ We did not bear down very hard on you — it’s not 
our custom ; but both inclination and necessity lead 
us to require that every one and every thing con- 
nected with this paper should be eminently respect- 
able and deserving of respect. Good morning, sir.” 

Haldane’s pre-eminence consisted only in his lack 
of respectability ; and after the brave visions of the 
past week, based on his literary toil, this cool, sharp- 
cut statement of society’s opinion quenched about 
all hope of ever rising by first gaining recognition 
and employment among those whose position was 
similar to what his own had been. As he plodded 
his way back to the miserable little foreign restau- 
rant, his mind began to dwell on this question, 

** Is there any place in the world for one who has 
committed a crime, save a prison ? ” 


MAIDEN AND WOOD-SA WYER, 


205 


CHAPTER XX. 

MAIDEN AND WOOD-SAWYER. 

B efore utterly abandoning all hope of finding 
employment that should in some small degree 
preserve an air of respectability, Haldane resolved 
to give up one more day to the search, and on the 
following morning he started out and walked until 
night-fall. He even offered to take the humblest 
positions that would insure him a support and some 
recognition; but the record of his action while in 
Mr. Arnot’s employ followed him everywhere, creat- 
ing sufficient prejudice in every case to lead to a re- 
fusal of his application. Some said “ No ” reluctant- 
ly and hesitatingly, as if kindly feelings within took 
the young man’s part ; but they said it, nevertheless. 

For the patient resolution with which he continued 
to apply to aCll kinds of people and places, hour after 
hour, in spite of such disheartening treatment, he 
deserved much praise ; but he did not receive any ; 
and at last, weary and despondent, he returned to 
his miserable lodgings. He was so desperately de- 
pressed in body and mind that the contents of the 
black bottle seemed his only resource. 

Such a small sum now remained that he felt that 
something must be done instantly. He concluded 


2o6 knight of the nineteenth century, 

that his only course now was to go out and pick up 
any odd bits of work that he could find. He hoped 
that by working half the time he might make enough 
to pay for his board at his present cheap lodging- 
place. This would leave him time to continue his 
writing, and in the course of a week more he would 
certainly hear from the manuscripts already forward- 
ed. On these he now built nearly all his hope. If 
they were well received and paid for, he considered 
his fortune’s substantially restored, and fame almost 
a certainty in the future. If he could only produce 
a few more manuscripts, and bridge over the 'inter- 
vening time until he could hear from them, he felt 
that his chief difficulties would be past. 

Having decided to do a laborer’s work, he at once 
resolved to exchange his elegant broadcloth for 
a laborer’s suit, and he managed this transfer so 
shrewdly that he obtained quite a little sum of 
money in addition. 

It was well that he did replenish his finances some- 
what, for his apparently phlegmatic landlord was as 
wary as a veteran mouser in looking after his small 
interests. He had just obtained an inkling as to 
Haldane’s identity, and, while he was not at all 
chary concerning the social and moral standing of 
his few uncertain lodgers, he proposed henceforth 
that all transactions with the suspicious strangei 
should be on a strictly cash basis. 

It was the busy spring-time, and labor was in 
great demand. Haldane wandered off to the sub- 
urbs, and, as an ordinary laborer, offered his services 
in cleaning up yards, cutting wood, or forking over 


MAIDEN' AND IVOOD-SAWYEB. 


207 


a space of garden ground. His stalwart form and 
prepossessing appearance generally secured him a 
favorable answer, but before he was through with 
his task he often received a sound scolding for his 
unskillful and bungling style of work. But he in 
part made up by main strength what he lacked in 
skill, and after two or three days he acquired con- 
siderable deftness in his unwonted labors, and felt 
the better for them. They counteracted the effects 
of his literary efforts, or, more correctly, his means 
of inspiration in them. 

Thus another week passed, of which he gave three 
days to the production of two or three more brief 
manuscripts, and during the following week he felt 
sure that he would hear from those first sent. 

He wrote throughout the hours of daylight on 
Sunday, scarcely leaving his chair, and drank more 
deeply than usual. In consequence, he felt wretch- 
edly on Monday, and, therefore, strolled off to look 
for some employment that would not tax his ach- 
ing head. Hitherto he had avoided all localities 
where he would be apt to meet those who knew him ; 
and by reason of his brief residence in town there 
were comparatively few who were familiar with his 
features. He now recalled the fact that he had 
often seen from his window, while an inmate of Mrs. 
Arnot’s home, quite a collection of cottages across a 
small ravine that ran a little back of that lady’s resi- 
dence. He might find some work among them, 
and he yielded to the impulse to look again upon 
the place where such rich and abundant happiness 
had once seemed within his grasp. 


2o8 knight of the nineteenth century. 

For several days he had been conscious of a grow- 
ing desire to hear from his mother and Mrs. Arnot, 
and often found himself wondering how they regard- 
ed his mysterious disappearance, or whether reports 
of his vain inquiry for work had reached them. 

With a pride and resolution that grew obstinate 
with time and failure, he resolved that he would not 
communicate with them until he had something fa- 
vorable to tell ; and he hoped, and almost believed, 
that before many days passed, he could address to 
them a literary weekly paper in which they would 
find, in prominent position, the underscored initials 
of E. H. Until he could be preceded by the first 
flashes of fame he would remain in obscurity. He 
would not even let Mrs. Arnot know where he was 
hiding, so that she might send to him his personal 
effects left at her house. Indeed, he had no place for 
them now, and was, besides, moie morbidly bent 
than ever on making good the proud words he had 
spoken. If, in the face of such tremendous odds 
he could, alone and unaided, with nothing but his 
hands and brain, win again all and more than he 
had lost, he could compel the respect and admira- 
tion of those who had witnessed his downfall and 
consequent victorious struggle. 

Was the girl who had inspired his sudden, and, as 
he had supposed, “ undying ” passion, forgotten dur- 
ing these trying days ? Yes, to a great extent. Ilis 
self-love was greater than his love for Laura Romeyn. 
He craved intensely to prove that he was no longer 
a proper object of her scorn. She had rejected 
him as a slave to “ disgusting vices ” and such he 


MAIDEN AND WOOD-SA WYER. 


209 


had apparently shown himself to be ; but now he 
would have been willing to have dipped his pen in 
his own blood, and have written away his life, if 
thereby he could have filled her with admiration and 
regret. Although he scarcely acknowledged it to 
himself, perhaps the subtlest and strongest impulse 
to his present course was the hope of teaching her 
that he was not what she now regarded him. But 
he was not at that time capable of a strong, true 
affection for any one, and thoughts of the pretty 
maiden wounded his pride more than his heart. 

After arriving at the farther bank of the ravine, 
back of Mrs. Arnot’s residence, he sat down for 
a while, and gave himself up to a very bitter revery. 
There, in the bright spring sunshine, was the beauti- 
ful villa which might have been a second home to 
him. The gardener was at work among the shrub- 
bery, and the sweet breath of crocuses and hyacinths 
was floated to him on the morning breeze. There 
were the windows of his airy, lovely room, in com- 
parison with which the place in which he now slept 
was a kennel. If lie had controlled and hidden his 
passion, if he had waited and wooed patiently, 
skillfully, winning first esteem and friendship, and 
then affection, yonder garden paths might have wit- 
nessed many happy hours spent with the one whom 
he loved as well as he could love any one save him< 
self. But now — and he cursed himself and his folly. 

Poor fellow ! He might as well have said, “ If I 
had not been myself, all this might have been as I 
have imagined.” He had acted naturally, and in 
accordance with his defective character; he had 


aio 


KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


been himself, and that was the secret of all his trou* 
bles. He sprang up, exclaiming in anger, 

** Mother made a weak fool of me, and I was will- 
ing to be a fool. Now we are both reaping our re- 
ward.” 

He went off among the cottages looking for em- 
ployment, but found little encouragement. The 
people were, as a general thing, in humble circum- 
stances, and did their work among themselves. But 
at last he found, near the ravine, a small dwelling, 
standing quite apart from any others, before which 
a load of wood had been thrown. The poor woman 
whose gateway it obstructed was anxious to have it 
sawed up and carried to her little wood-shed, but 
was disposed to haggle about the price. 

“ Give me what you please,” said Haldane, throw- 
ing off his coat ; “ I take the job ; ” and in a few 
moments the youth who had meditated indefinite 
heights of “ gloomy grandeur ” appeared — save to 
the initiated — as if he had been born a wood-sawyer. 

He was driving his saw in the usual strong, dog- 
ged manner in which he performed such tasks, when 
a light step caused him to look up suddenly, and he 
found himself almost face to face with Laura Ro- 
meyn. He started violently; the blood first receded 
from his face, and then rushed tumultuously back. 
She, too, seemed much surprised and startled, and 
stopped hesitatingly, as if she did not know what to 
do. But Haldane had no doubt as to his course. 
He felt that he had no right to speak to her, and 
that she might regard it as an insult if he did ; 
therefore he bent down to his work again with a 



“Will you not Speak to me, Mr. Haldane?” she asked. 

Knight XIX Century. Page 211. 



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MAIDEN AND WOOD-SAWYER. 


21 


ceitain proud humility which Laura, even in her 
perturbation, did not fail to notice. 

In her diffidence and confusion she continued past 
him a few steps, and, although he expected nothing 
less, the fact that she did not recognize or speak to 
him cut to his heart with a deeper pain than he had 
yet suffered. With a gesture similar to that which 
he made when she saw him on the way to prison, he 
dashed his hat down over his eyes, and drove his 
saw through the wood with savage energy. 

She looked at him doubtfully for a moment, then 
yielding to her impulse, came to his side. His first 
intimation of her presence was the scarcely heard 
tones of her voice mingling with the harsh rasping 
of the saw. 

‘‘Will you not speak to mo, Mr. Haldane?” she 
asked. 

He dropped his saw, stood erect, trembled slightly, 
but did not answer or even raise his eyes to her face. 
His pain was so great he was not sure of his self- 
control. 

“Perhaps,” she added timidly, “you do not wish 
me to speak to you.” 

“ I now have no right to speak to you. Miss 
Romeyn,” he answered in a tone which his sup- 
pressed feelings rendered constrained and almost 
harsh. 

“ But I feel sorry for you,” said she quickly, “ and 
so does my aunt, and she greatly — ” 

“ I have not asked for your pity,” interrupted Hal* 
dane, growing more erect and almost haughty in his 
bearing, quite oblivious for a moment of his shirt- 


212 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 


sleeves and buck-saw. What is more^, he made 
Laura forget them also, and his manner embarrassed 
her greatly. She was naturally gentle and timid, 
and she deferred so far to his mood that one would 
have thought that she was seeking to obtain kind- 
ness rather than to confer it. 

You misunderstand me,” said she: ** I do respect 
you for the brave effort you are making. I respect 
you for doing this work. You cannot think it 
strange, though, that I am sorry for all that has hap- 
pened. But I did not intend to speak of myself at 
all — of Mrs. Arnot rather, and your mother. They 
do not know where to find you, and wish to see and 
hear from you very much. Mrs. Arnot has letters 
to you from your mother.” 

“ The time shall come — it may not be so very far 
distant. Miss Romeyn — when it will be no conde- 
scension on your part to speak to me,” said Haldane 
loftily, ignoring all that related to Mrs. Arnot and 
his mother, even if he heard it. 

“I do not feel it to be condescension now,” re- 
plied Laura, with almost the frank simplicity of a 
child. I cannot help feeling sympathy for you, 
even though you are too proud to receive it.” Then 
she added, with a trace of dignity and maidenly 
pride, “ Perhaps when you have realized your hopes, 
and have become rich or famous, I may not choose 
to speak to you. But it is not my nature to turn 
from any one in misfortune, much less any one whom 
I have known well.” 

He looked at her steadily for a moment, and his 
lip quivered slightly with his softening feeling. 


MAIDEN AND WOOD-SA WYER, 


“ You do not scorn me, then, like the rest of the 
world,” said he in a low tone. 

Tears stood in the young girl’s eyes as she an- 
swered, ‘‘ Mr. Haldane, I do feel deeply for you ; I 
know you have done very wrong, but that only 
makes you suffer more.” 

“ How can you overlook the wrong of my action ? 
Others think I am not fit to be spoken to,” he asked, 
in a still lower tone. 

“ I do not overlook the wrong,” said she, gravely; 
** it seems strange and terrible to me ; and yet I do 
feel sorry for you, from the depths of my heart, and 
I wish I could help you.” 

“You have helped me,” said he, impetuously; 
“ you have spoken the first truly kind word that has 
blessed me since I bade mother good-by. I was 
beginning to hate the hard-hearted animals known 
as men and women. They trample me down like a 
herd of buffaloes.” 

“ Won’t you go with me and see Mrs. Arnot ? She 
has letters for you^ and she greatly wishes to see 
you.” 

He shook his head. 

“ Why not?” 

“ I have the same as made a vow that I will never 
approach any one to whom I held my old relations 
until I regain at least as good a name and position 
as I lost. I little thought we should meet soon 
again, if ever, and still less that you would speak to 
me as you have done.” 

“ I had been taking some delicacies from auntie 
to a poor sick woman, and was just returning,” said 


214 OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

Laura, blushing slightly. ** I think your vow is very 
wrong. Your pride brings grief to your mother, and 
pain to your good friend, Mrs. Arnot.” 

I cannot help it,” said he, in a manner that was 
gloomy and almost sullen ; ‘‘ I got myself into this 
slough, and I intend to get myself out of it. I shall 
not take alms from any one.” 

“ A mother cannot give her son alms,” said Laura 
simply. 

The first words my mother said to me when my 
heart was breaking, were, ‘You have disgraced me.* 
When I have accomplished that which will honor 
her I will return.” 

“ I know from what auntie said that your mother 
did not mean any unkindness, and you surely know 
that you have a friend in Mrs. Arnot.” 

“ Mrs. Arnot has been a true friend, and no small 
part of my punishment is the thought of how I have 
requited her kindness. I reverence and honor her 
more than any other woman, and I did not know 
that you were so much like her. You both seem 
different from all the rest of the world. But I shall 
take no advantage of her kindness or yours.” 

“ Mr. Haldane,” said Laura gravely, but with ris- 
ing color, “ I am not a woman. In years and feelings 
I am scarcely more than a child. It may not be 
proper or conventional for me to stop and talk so 
long to you, but I have acted from the natural im- 
pulse of a young girl brought up in a secluded country 
home. I shall return thither to-morrow, and I am 
glad I have seen you once more, for I wished you to 
know that I did feel sorry for you, and that I hoped 


MAIDEN AND WOOD-SA W YER. 


215 


you might succeed. I greatly wish you would see 
Mrs, Arnot, or let me tell her where she can see you, 
and send to you what she wishes. She has heard of 
you once or twice, but does not know where to find 
you. Will you not let me tell her? ” 

He shook his head decidedly. 

Well, then, good-by,” said she kindly, and was 
about to depart. 

** Wait, * he said hastily; ‘‘will you do me one 
small favor ?” 

“ Yes, if I ought.” 

“ This is my father’s watch and chain,” he con 
tinned, taking them off. “ They are not safe with 
me in my present life. I do riot wish to have it in 
my power to take them to a pawn-shop. I would 
rather starve first, and yet I would rather not be 
tempted. I can’t explain. You cannot and should 
not know any thing about the world in which I am 
living. Please give these to Mrs. Arnot, and ask 
her to keep them till I come for them ; or she can 
send them, with the rest of my effects, to my mother. 
I have detained you too long already. Whatever 
may be my fate, I shall always remember you with 
the deepest gratitude and respect.” 

There was distress in Laura’s face as he spoke; but 
she took the watch and chain without a word, for 
she saw that he was fully resolved upon his course. 

“ I know that Mrs. Arnot will respect my wish to 
remain in obscurity until I can come with a charac- 
ter differing from that which I now bear. Your life 
would be a very happy one. Miss Romeyn, if my 
wishes could make it so ; and the wood-sawyer 


2i6 knight of the niaeteenth century. 

( f 

bowed his farewell with the grace and dignity of a 
gentleman, in spite of his coarse laborer’s garb. He 
then resumed his work, to the great relief of the 
woman, who had caught glimpses of the interview 
from her window, wondering and surmising why the 
“ young leddy from the big house ” should have so 
much to say to a wood-sawyer. 

** If she had a-given him a tract upon leavin’, it 
would a-seemed more nateral like,” she explained to 
a crony the latter part of the day. 

Mrs. Arnot did respect Haldane’s desire to be left 
to himself until he came in the manner that his pride 
dictated ; but, after hearing Laura’s story, she cast 
many a wistful glance toward the one who, in spite 
of his grave faults and weaknesses, deeply interested 
her, and she sighed, 

** He must learn by hard experience.” 

Did I do wrong in speaking to him, auntie?” 
Laura asked. 

** I do not think so. Your motive was natural 
and kindly ; and yet I irould not like you to meet 
him again until he is wholly different in character, if 
that time ever comes.” 


MAGNANIMOUS MR, SHRUMPF, 


217 


CHAPTER XXL 

MAGNANIMOUS MR. SHRUMPF. 

FTER the excitement caused by his unexpected 



XX interview with Laura subsided, and Haldane 
was able to think it over quietly, it seemed to him 
that he had burned his ships behind him. He must 
now make good his proud words, for to go “ crawling 
back after what he had said to-day, and, of all per- 
sons, to the one whose opinion he most valued — this 
would be a humiliation the thought of which even 
he could not endure. 

Having finished his task, he scarcely glanced at 
the pittance which the woman reluctantly gave him, 
and went straight to the city post-ofhce. He was 
so agitated with conflicting hopes and fears that his 
voice trembled as he asked if there were any letters 
addressed to E. H., and he was so deeply disappoint- 
ed that he was scarcely willing to take the careless 
negative given. He even went to the express office, 
in the vague hope that the wary editors had remitted 
through them ; and the leaden weight of despon- 
dency grew heavier at each brisk statement : 

** Nothing for E. H.” 

He was so weary and low-spirited when he reached 
his dismal lodgings that he felt no disposition to 


lO 


2i8 knight of the nineteenth century. 

either eat or drink, but sat down in the back part of 
the wretched, musty saloon, and, drawing his hat 
over his eyes, he gave himself up to bitter thoughts 
♦With mental imprecations he cursed himself that he 
had not better understood the young girl who once 
had been his companion. Never before had she 
seemed so beautiful as to-day, and she had revealed 
a forming character as lovely as her person. She 
was like Mrs. Arnot — the woman who seemed to 
him perfect — and what more could he say in her 
praise ? And yet his folly had placed between them 
an impassable gulf. He was not misled by her 
kindness, for he remembered her words, and now 
believed them, “ If I ever love a man he will be one 
that I can look up to and respect.” If he could 
only have recognized her noble tendencies he might 
have resolutely set about becoming such a man. If 
his character had been pleasing to her, his social 
position would have given him the right to have as- 
pired to her hand. Why had he not had sufficient 
sense to have realized that she was young — much 
too young to understand his rash, hasty passion? 
Why could he not have learned from her pure, deli- 
cate face that she might possibly be won by patient 
and manly devotion, but would be forever repelled 
from the man who wooed her like a Turk? 

In the l*ght of experience he saw his mistakes. 
From his present depth he looked up, and saw the 
inestimable vantage ground which he once possessed. 
In his deep despondency he feared he never would 
regain it, and that his hopes of literary success would 
prove delusi\ e. 


magnanimous MR. SHRUMPF, 


219 


Regret like a cold, November wind, swept through 
all his thoughts and memories, and there seemed 
nothing before him but a chill winter of blight and 
failure that would have no spring. 

But he was not left to indulge his miserable mood 
very long, for his mousing landlord — having finally, 
learned who Haldane was, and all the unfavora- 
ble facts and comments with which the press had 
abounded — now concluded that he could pounce 
upon him in such a way that something would be 
left in his claws before the victim could escape. 

That very morning Haldane had paid for his board 
to date, but had thoughtlessly neglected to have a 
witness or take a receipt. The grizzled grimalkin 
who kept the den, and thrived as much by his small 
filchings as from his small profits, had purred to him- 
self, “Very goot, very goot,” on learning that Hal- 
dane’s word would not be worth much with the 
public or in court ; and no yellow-eyed cat ever 
waited and watched for his prey with a quieter and 
cooler deliberation than did Weitzel Shrumpf, the 
host of the dingy little hotel. 

After Haldane appeared he delayed until a few 
cronies whom he could depend upon had dropped 
in, and then, in an off-hand way, stepped up to the 
despondent youth, and said : 

“ I zay, mister, you been here zwei week ; I want 
you bay me now.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Haldane, looking 
up with an uncomprehending stare. 

“ Dis is vot I means ; you buts me off long nuff, 
I vants zwei weeks' bort.” 


220 KNIGHT OF THE NINEl'EENTH CENTURY. 

** I paid you for every thing up to this morning, 
and I have had nothing since/' 

** Of you have baid me — strange I did not know , 
Vill you bays now ven I does know ? 

“ I tell you I have paid you ! ” said Haldane, start 
ing up. 

** Veil, veil, show me der receipt, an I says not von 
vort against him.” 

** You did not give me a receipt.” 

‘‘No, I tinks not — not my vay to give him till I 
gits de moneys.” 

“You are an unmitigated scoundrel. I won’t pay 
you another cent.” 

“ Lock dat door, Carl,” said the landlord, coolly, 
to one of his satellites. “ Now, Mister Haldane, 
you bays, or you goes to jail. You has been dare 

vonce, an I’ll but you dare dis night if you no bays 
** 

me. 

“ Gentlemen, I appeal to you to prevent this down- 
right villainy,” cried Haldane. 

“ I sees no villainy,” said one of the lookers-on, 
stolidly. “You shows your receipt, and he no touch 
you.” 

“ I neglected to take a receipt. I did not know I 
was dealing with a thief.” 

“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the landlord; “he tinks 
I vas honest like himself, who vas jus’ out of jail ! ” 

“ I won’t pay you twice,” said Haldane doggedly. 

“ Carl, call de policeman, den.” 

“Wait a moment; your rascality will do you no 
good, and may get you into trouble. I have very 
little money left.” 


MAGNANIMOUS MR. SHRUMPF. 


221 


“ Den you can leave your vatch till you brings de 
money/ 

Ah, thank Heaven ! that is safe, and beyond 
your clutches.” 

‘‘In a pawn-shop? or vas he stolen, like de tou- 
sand dollar, and you been made give him up?” 

Haldane had now recovered himself sufficiently 
to realize that he was in an ugly predicament. He 
was not sufficiently familiar with the law to know 
how much power his persecutor had, but feared, with 
good reason, that some kind of a charge could be 
trumped up which would lead to his being locked 
up for the night. Then would follow inevitably 
another series of paragraphs in the papers, deepening 
the dark hues in which they had already portrayed 
his character. He could not endure the thought 
that the last knowledge of him that Laura carried 
away with her from Hillaton should be that he was 
again in jail, charged with trying to steal his board 
and lodging from a poor and ignorant foreigner ; for 
he foresaw that the astute Shrumpf, his German 
landlord, would appear in the police court in the 
character of an injured innocent. He pictured the 
disgust upon her face as she saw his name in the vile 
connection which this new arraignment would oc- 
casion, and he felt that he must escape it if possi- 
ble. Although enraged at Shrumpf s false charge, he 
was cool enough to remember that he had nothing 
to oppose to it save his own unsupported word ; 
and what was that worth in Hillaton? The public 
would even be inclined to believe the opposite of 
what he affirmed. Therefore, by a great effort, 


222 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

he regained his self-control, and said firmly and 
quietly : 

Shrumpf, although you know I have paid you, I 
am yet in a certain sense within your power, since I 
did not take your receipt. I have not much money 
left, but after I have taken out fifty cents for my 
supper and bed you can take all the rest. My watch 
is in the hands of a friend, and you can’t get that, 
and you can’t get any more than I have by procuring 
my arrest ; so take your choice. I don’t want to 
have trouble with you, but I won’t go out penniless 
and spend the night in the street, and if you send 
for a policeman I will make you all the trouble I 
can, and I promise you it will not be a little.” 

Herr Shrumpf, conscious that he was on rather 
delicate ground, and remembering that he was al- 
ready in bad odor with the police authorities, assumed 
a great show of generosity. 

“ I vill not be tough,” he said, “ ven a man’s boor 
and does all vat he can ; I knows my rights, and I 
stands up for him, but ven I gits him den I be like 
von leetle lamb. I vill leave you tree quarter dollar, 
and you bays der rest vat you have, and ve says 
nothing more ’bout him.” 

“You are right — the least said the better about 
this transaction. I’ve been a fool, and you are a 
knave, and that is all there is to say. Here are 
seventy-five cents, which I keep,, and there are four 
dollars, which is all I have — every cent. Now un- 
lock your door and let me out.” 

“ I tinks you has more.” 

“ You can search my pockets if you wish. If you 


MA GNANIMO US MR, SHR UMPF. 


223 


do, I call upon these men present to witness the act, 
for, as I have said, if you go beyond a certain point 
I will make you trouble, and justly, too.” 

** Nah, nah ! vat for I do so mean a ting? You 
but your hand in my bocket ven you takes my din- 
ners, my lagers, and my brandies, but I no do vat no 
shentlemens does. You can go, and ven you brings 
de full moneys for zwei weeks’ bort I gives you re- 
ceipt for him.” 

Haldane vouchsafed no reply, but hastened away, 
as a fly would escape from a spider’s web. The epi- 
sode, intensely disagreable as it was, had the good 
effect of arousing him out of the paralysis of his 
deep despondency. Besides, he could not help con- 
gratulating himself that he had avoided another 
arrest and all the wretched experience which must 
have followed. 

He concluded that there was no other resource for 
him that night save “No. 13,” the lodging-house in 
the side street where “ no questions were asked ; ” 
and, having stolen into another obscure restaurant, 
he obtained such a supper as could be had for twenty- 
five cents. He then sought his former miserable 
refuge, and, as he could not pay extra for a private 
room on this occasion — for he must keep a little 
money for his breakfast — there was nothing for him, 
therefore, but to obtain what rest he could in a large, 
stifling room, half filled with miserable waifs like 
himself. He managed to get a bed near a window, 
which he raised slightly, and fatigue soon brought 
oblivion. 


224 


KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A MAN WHO HATED HIMSELF. 

HE light of the following day brought littk 



X hope or courage; but Haldane started out, 
after a meager breakfast, to find some means of ob- 
taining a dinner and a place to sleep. He was not 
as successful as usual, and noon had passed before 
he found any thing to do. 

As he was plodding wearily along through a sub- 
urb he heard some one behind a high board fence 
speaking so loudly and angrily that he stopped to 
listen, and was not a little surprised to find that the 
man was talking to himself. For a few moments 
there was a sound of a saw, and when it ceased, a 
harsh, querulous voice commenced again : 

“ A-a-h ” — it would seem that the man thus given 
to soliloquy often began and finished his sentences 
with a vindictive and prolonged guttural sound like 
that here indicated — “Miserable hand at sawin’ 
wood ! Why don’t you let some one saw it that 
knows how? Tryin* to save a half dollar, when you 
know it’ll give you the rheumatiz, and cost ten in 
doctor bills! ’Nother thing; it’s mean — mean as 
dirt. You know there’s poor devils who need the 
work, and you’re cheatin’ ’em out of it. But it’s 


A MAN WHO HA TED HIMSELP. 


225 


just like yer ! A-a-h ! ” and then the saw began 
again. 

Haldane was inclined to believe that this irascible 
stranger was as providential as the croaking ravens 
that fed the prophet, and he promptly sought the 
gate and entered. An old man looked up in some 
surprise. He was short in stature and had the stoop 
of one who is bending under the weight of years and 
infirmities. His features were as withered and brown 
as a russet apple that had been kept long past its 
season, and his head was surmounted by a shock of 
white locks that bristled out in all directions, as if 
each particular hair was on bad terms with its neigh- 
bors. Curious seams and wrinkles gave the continu- 
ous impression that the old gentleman had just 
swallowed something very bitter, and was making a 
wry face over it. But Haldane was in no mood for 
the study of physiognomy and character, however 
interesting a subject he might stumble upon, and he 
said, 

“ I am looking for a little work, and with your 
permission I will saw that wood for whatever you 
are willing to pay.” 

** That won’t be much.” 

It will be enough to get a hungry man a din- 
ner.” 

Haven’t you had any dinner?” 

No.” 

Why didn’t you ask for one, then ? 

** Why should I ask you for a dinner ? ” 

** Why shouldn’t you ? If I be a tight-fisted man, 
I’m not mean enough to refuse a hungry man.” 

10 * 


226 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

** Give me some work, and I can buy my dinner.” 

What’s your name?” 

** Egbert Haldane.” 

“ Ah ha ! That name’s been in the papers lately * 

** Yes, and / have been in jail.” 

“ And do you expect me to have a man around 
that’s been in jail? ” 

“ No ; I don’t expect any humanity from any hu- 
man being that knows any thing about me. I am 
treated as if I were the devil himself, and hadn’t the 
power or wish to do any thing save rob and murder. 
The public should keep such as I am in prison the 
rest of our lives, or else cut our throats. But this 
sending us out in the world to starve, and to be 
kicked and cuffed during the process, is scarcely in 
keeping with the Bible civilization they are always 
boasting of.” 

He spoke recklessly and bitterly, and his experience 
made his words appear to him only too true. But 
his shriveled and shrunken auditor grinned appre- 
ciatively, and said, with more than his usual vindic- 
tive emphasis, 

A-a-h ! that’s the right kind of talk. Now you’re 
gittin* past all this make - believin’ to the truth. 
We’re a cussed mean set — we folks who go to church 
and read the Bible, and then do just what the devil 
tells us, adielpin’ him along all the time. Satan’s 
got a strong grip on you, from all I hear, and we’re 
all a-helpin’ him keep it. You’ve gone halfway to 
the devil, and all the good people tell you to go the 
rest of the way, for they won’t have any thing to do 
with you Hain’t that the way?” 


A MAN WHO HA TED HIMSELF. 


227 


** O, no/’ said Haldane with a bitter sneer ; “ some 
of the good people to whom you refer put them- 
selves out so far as to give me a little advice.” 

“ What was it wuth to you ? Which would you 
ruther — some good advice from me, or the job of 
sawin’ the wood there ? ” 

“ Give me the saw — no matter about the advice,” 
said Haldane, throwing off his coat. 

“ A-a-h ! wasn’t I a fool to ask that question ? 
Well, I don’t belong to the good people, so go 
ahead — I don’t s’pose you know much about sawin’ 
wood, bro’t up as you’ve been ; but you can’t do it 
wuss than me. I don’t belong to any one. What 
I was made for I can’t see, unless it is to be a tor- 
ment to myself. Nobody can stand me. I can’t 
stand myself. I’ve got a cat and dog that will stay 
with me, and sometimes I’ll git up and kick ’em 
jest for the chance of cussin’ myself for doin’ it.” 

“ And yet you are the first man in town that has 
shown me any practical kindness,” said Haldane, 
placing another stick on his saw-buck. 

“Well, I kinder do it out o’ spite to myself. 
There’s somethin’ inside of me sayin’ all the time, 
‘ Why are you spendin’ time and money on this 
young scape-grace? It’ll end in your havin’ to give 
him a dinner, for you can’t be so blasted mean as to 
let him go without it, and yet all the time you’re 
wishin’ that you needn’t do it.’” 

“ Well, you need not,” said Haldane. 

“ Yes, I must, too.” 

“ All I ask of you U what you think this work is 
worth,’ 


228 KNIGHT JF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

“ Well, that ain’t all I ask of my confounded old 
self. Here, you’re hungry you say — s’pose you tell 
the truth sometimes; here you’re down, and all the 
respectable people sittin’ down hard on you ; here 
you are in the devil’s clutches, and he’s got you 
halfway toward the brimstone, and I’m grudgin’ you 
a dinner, even when I know I’ve got to give it to 
you. That’s what I call bein’ mean and a fool both. 
A-a-h ! ” 

Haldane stopped a moment to indulge in the first 
laugh he had enjoyed since his arrest. 

“ I hope you will pardon me, rny venerable friend,” 
said he ; “ but you have a rp.ther strangely honest 
way of talking.” 

I’m old, but I ain’t venerable. My name is Jere- 
miah Growther,” was the snarling reply. 

“ I’m afraid you have too much conscience, Mr. 
Growther. It won’t let you do comfortably what 
others do as a matter of course.” 

I’ve nothin* to do with other people. I know 
what’s right, and I’m all the time hatin’ to do it 
That’s the mean thing about me which I can’t stand. 
A-a-h! ” 

** I’m sorry my coming has made you so out of 
sorts with yourself.” 

“ If it ain’t you it’s somethin’ else. I ain’t more 
out of sorts than usual.” 

“ Well, you’ll soon be rid of me — I’ll be through 
in an hour.” 

** Yes, and here it is the middle of the afternoon, 
and you haven’t had your dinner yet, and for all I 
know, no breakfast nuther I was precious careful 


A MAN WHO HA TED HIMSELF. 


22g 


to have both of mine, and find it very comfortable 
standin’ here a-growlin’ while you’re workin’ on an 
empty stomach. But it’s just like me. A-a-h! I’ll 
call you in a few minutes, and I won’t pay you a 
cent unless you come in ; ” and the old man started 
for the small dilapidated cottage which he shared 
with the cat and dog that, as he stated, managed to 
worry along with him. 

But he had not taken many steps before he stum- 
bled slightly against a loose stone, and he stopped 
for a moment, as if he could find no language equal 
to the occasion, and then commenced such a tirade 
of abuse with his poor weazen little self as its ob- 
ject, that one would naturally feel like taking sides 
with the decrepit body against the vindictive spirit. 
Haldane would have knocked a stranger down had 
he said half as much to the old gentleman, who 
seemed bent on befriending him after his own odd 
fashion. But the irate old man finished his objurga- 
tion with the words : 

What’s one doin’ above ground who can’t lift 
his foot over a stone only an inch high ? A-a-h ! ” 
and then he went on, and disappeared in the house, 
from the open door of which not long after came 
the savory odor of coffee. 

Partly to forget his miserable self in his employer’s 
strange manner, and partly because he was almost faint 
from hunger, Haldane concluded to accept this first 
invitation to dine out in Hillaton, resolving that he 
would do his queer host some favor to make things even. 

“ Come in,” shouted Mr Growther a few minutes 

later 


230 KmCHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

Haldane entered quite a large room, which pre- 
sented an odd aspect of comfort and disorder. 

There’s a place to wash your hands, if you 
think it’s wuth while. I don’t often, but I hope 
there’s few like me,” said the busy host, lifting the 
fiydng-pan from some coals, and emptying from it a 
generous slice of ham and three or four eggs on a 
platter. ^ 

** I like your open fire-place,” said Haldane, look- 
ing curiously around the hermitage as he performed 
his ablutions. 

** That’s a nuther of my weaknesses. I know a 
stove would be more convenient and economical, 
but I hate all improvements.” 

“ One would think, from what you said, your cat 
and dog had a hard time of it ; but two more sleek, 
fat, and lazy animals I never saw.” 

“ No thanks to me. I s’pose they’ve got clear 
consciences.” 

As the table began to fairly groan with good 
things, Haldane said, 

** Look here, Mr. Growther, are you in the habit 
of giving disreputable people such a dinner as that ? ” 

‘‘ If it’s good enough for me, it’s good enough for 
you,” was the tart reply. 

O, I’m hot finding fault ; I only wanted you to 
know that I would be grateful for much less. ’ 

** I’m not doin’ it to please you, but to spite myself.” 

“ Have your own way, of course,” said Haldane, 
laughing ; “ it’s a little odd, though, that your spite 
against yourself should mean so much practical 
kindness to me.” 


A MAN WHO HATED HIMSELF. 


n 


** Hold on ! ” cried his host, as Haldane was about 
to attack the viands ; ** ain’t you goin’ to say grace ? ’ 

“ Well,” said the young man, somewhat embar- 
rassed, “ I would rather you would say it for me.” 

** I might as well eat your dinner for you.” 

** Mr. Growther, you are an unusually honest man, 
and I think a kind one ; so I am not going to act 
out any lies before^you. Although your dinner is 
the best one I have seen for many a long day, or 
am likely to see, yet, to tell you the truth, I could 
swear over it easier than I could pra/ over it.” 

** A-a-h ! that’s the right spirit ; that’s the way I 
ought to feel. Now you see what a mean hypocrite 
I am. I’m no Christian — far from it — and yet I 
always have a sneakin’ wish to say grace over my 
victuals. As if it would do any body any good ! 
If I’d jest swear over ’em, as you say, then I would 
be consistent.” 

“Are you in earnest in all this strange talk?” 

“Yes, I am; I hate myself.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because I know all about myself. A-a-h! ” 

“ How many poor, hungry people have you fed 
since the year opened ? ” 

“Your question shows me jest what I am. I 
could tell you within three or four. I found my- 
self a-countin* of ’em up and a-gloryin’ in it all the 
tother night, takin’ credit to myself for givin’ away 
a few victuals after I had had plenty myself. Think 
of a man gittin* self-righteous over givin’ to some 
poor fellow-critters what he couldn’t eat himself r 
If that ain’t meanness, what is it ? A-a-h ! ” 


232 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTUEY, 

** hut you haven’t told me how many you have 
fed.” 

No, and I ain’t a-goin’ to— jest to spite myself. 
I want to tell you, and to take credit for it, but I’ll 
head myself off this time.” 

** But you could eat these things which you are 
serving to me — if not to-day, why, then to-morrow.” 

** To-morrow’s income will provide for to-morrow. 
The Lord shows he’s down on this savin' and hoard- 
in' up of things, for he makes 'em get musty right 
away ; and if any thing spiles on my hands I’m mad 
enough to bite myself in two.” 

‘‘ But if you treat all stragglers as you do me, 
you do not give away odds and ends and what’s left 
over. This coffee is fine old Java, and a more deli- 
cate ham I never tasted.” 

Now you hit me twice. I will have the best 
for myself, instead of practicin' self-denial and econ- 
omy. Then I’m always wantin’ to get some second- 
hand victuals to give away, but I daresn’t. You 
see I read the Bible sometimes, and it’s the most 
awfully oncomfortable book that ever was written. 
You know what the Lord says in it — or you ought 
to — about what we do for the least of these his 
brethren ; that means such as you, only you're a 
sort of black sheep in the family ; and if words have 
any sense at all, the Lord takes my givin’ you a 
dinner the same as if I gave it to him. Now s'pose 
the Lord came to my house, as he did to Mary and 
Martha's, and I should git him up a slimpsy din- 
ner of second-hand victuals, and stand by a-chucklin' 
that I had saved twenty-five cents on it, wouldn't 


A MAN WHO HA TED HIMSELF. 


233 


that be meanness itself? Some time ago I had a 
ham that I couldn’t and wouldn’t eat, and they 
wouldn’t take it back at the store, so I got some of 
the Lord’s poor brethren to come tp dinner, and I 
palmed it off on them. But I had to cuss myself 
the whole evenin’ to pay up for it ! A-a-h ! ” 

** By Jove!” cried Haldane, dropping his knife 
and fork, and looking admiringly at his host, who 
stood on the hearth, running his fingers through his 
shock of white hair, his shriveled and bristling as- 
pect making a marked contrast with his sleek and 
lazy cat and dog — by Jove, you are what I call a 
Christian ! ” 

‘‘ Now, look here, young man,” said Mr. Grow- 
ther, wrathfully, ‘‘though you are under no obliga- 
tions to me, you’ve got no business makin’ game 
of me and callin’ me names, and I won’t stand it. 
You’ve got to be civif and speak the truth while 
you’re on my premises, whether you want to or no.” 

Haldane shrugged his shoulders, laughed, and 
made haste with his dinner, for with such a gusty 
and variable host he might not get a chance to finish 
it. As he glanced around the room, however, and 
saw how cozy and inviting it might be made by a 
little order and homelike arrangement, he determined 
to fix it up according to his own ideas, if he could 
accomplish it without actually coming to blows with 
the occupant. 

“ Who keeps house for you ? ” he asked. 

“ Didn’t I tell you nobody could stand me I ” 

“ Will you stand me for about half an hour while 
1 fix up this room for you ? ” 


234 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

“ No ! " 

What will you do if I attempt it? ” 

“ ril set the dog on you.” 

Nothing worse ? ” asked Haldane, with a laughr 
ing glance at the lazy cur. 

“You might take something.” 

An expression of sharp pain crossed the young 
man’s face ; the sunshine faded out of it utterly, 
and he said in a cold, constrained voice, as he rose 
from the table, 

“ O, I forgot for a moment that I am a thief in 
the world’s estimation.” 

“ That last remark of mine was about equal to a 
kick, wasn’t it ? ” 

“ A little worse.” 

“ Ain’t you used to ’em yet?” 

“ I ought to be.” 

“ Why, do many speak out as plain as that ? ” 

“ They act it out just as plainly. Since you don’t 
trust me, you had better watch me, lest I put some 
cord-wood in my pocket.” 

“ What do you want to do ? ” 

“ If the world is going to insist upon it that I am 
a scoundrel to the end of the chapter, I want to find 
some deep water, and get under it,” was the reckless 
reply. 

“ A-a-h ! Didn’^t I say we respectable people and 
the devil was in partnership over you ? He wants 
to get you under deep water as soon as possible, 
and we’re all a-helpin’ him along. Young man I am 
afraid of you, like the rest, and it seems to me that 
1 think more of my old duds here than of your im- 


A MAN WHO HATED HIMSELF, 235 

mortal soul that the devil has almost got. But I’m 
goin’ to spite him and myself for once. I’m goh* 
down town after the evenin’ paper, and, instead of 
lockin’ up, as I usually do, I shall leave you in 
charge. I know it’s risky, and I hate to do it, but 
it seems to me that you ought ter have sense 
enough to know that- if you take all I’ve got you 
would be jest that much wuss off ; ” and before Hal- 
danO could remonstrate or reply he took a curiously 
twisted and gnarled cane that resembled himself and 
departed. 


236 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

MR. GROWTHER BECOMES GIGANTIC. 

H aldane was so surprised at Mr. Growther’s 
unexpected course that the odd old man was 
out of the gate before the situation was fully real- 
ized. His first impulse was to follow, and say that 
he would not be left alone in circumstances that 
might compromise him ; but a second thought as- 
sured him that he was past being compromised. So 
he concluded to fall in with his host’s queer humor, 
and try to prove himself worthy of trust. He cleared 
away his dinner with as much deftness as could be 
expected of one engaging in an unusual task, and 
put every thing in its place, or what should be its 
place. He next found a broom, and commenced 
sweeping the room, which unwonted proceeding 
aroused the slumbering cat and dog, and they sat 
up and stared at the stranger with unfeigned as- 
tonishment. 

The cat looked on quietly and philosophically, 
acting on the generally received principle of the 
world, of not worrying until her own interests seemed 
threatened. But the dog evidently thought of the 
welfare of his absent master, and had a vague trou- 
bled sense that something was wrong. He waddled 


MR, GROWTHER BECOMES GIGANTIC. 237 

up to the intruder, and gravely smelt of him. By 
some canine casuistry he arrived at the same conclu- 
sion which society had reached — that Haldane was 
a suspicious character, and should be kept at arm’s 
length. Indeed, the sagacious beast seemed to feel 
toward the unfortunate youth precisely the same 
impulse which had actuated all the prudent citizens 
in town — a desire to be rid of him, and to have 
nothing to do with him. If Haldane would only 
take himself off to parts unknown, to die in a gutter, 
or to commit a burglary, that he might, as it were, 
break into jail again, and so find a refuge and an 
abiding-place, the faithful dog, believing his master’s 
interests no longer endangered, would have resumed 
his nap with the same complacency and sense of 
relief which scores of good people had felt as they 
saw Mr. Arnot’s dishonored clerk disappearing from 
their premises, after their curt refusal of his services. 
The community’s thoughts and wary eyes followed 
him only sufficiently long to be sure that he commit- 
ted no further depredations, and then he was forgot- 
ten, or remembered only as a danger, or an annoy- 
ance, happily escaped. What was to become of 
this drifting human atom appeared to cause no more 
solicitude in town than Mr. Growther’s dog would 
feel should he succeed in growling the intruder out 
of the house ; for, being somewhat mystified, and 
not exactly sure as to his master’s disposition to- 
ward the stranger, he concluded to limit his protest 
to a union of his voice with what might be termed 
society’s surly and monotonous command, “ Move 


238 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

Haldane tried to propitiate this mild and minia- 
ture Cerberus with a dainty piece of ham, but was 
rewarded only by a disdainful sniff and angrier snarl. 
The politic cat, however, with wary glances at the 
dog and the stranger, stole noiselessly to the meat 
seized it, and retreated quickly to her recognized 
corner of the hearth ; but when the youth, hoping 
that the morsel might lead to a friendly acquaintance, 
offered a caress, her back and tail went up instantly, 
and she became the embodiment of repellant con- 
servatism. He looked at her a moment, and then 
said, with a bitter laugh, 

“ If you could be transformed into a woman, as 
the old fairy tale goes, you would make an excellent 
wife for Weitzel Shrumpf, while the snarling dog 
represents the respectable portion of the communi- 
ty, that will have nothing to do with me whatever. 
When my pen, however, has brought name and 
fame, the churlish world will be ready to fawn, and 
forget that it tried to trample me into the mire of 
the street until I became a part of it. Curses on 
the world ! I would give half my life for the genius 
of a Byron, that I might heap scorn on society 
until it writhed under the intolerable burden. Oh 
that I had a wit as keen and quick as the lightning, 
so that I might transfix and shrivel up the well- 
dressed monsters that now shun me as if I had a 
contagion ! '' 

From a heart overflowing with bitterness and im- 
potent protest against the condition to which his 
own act had reduced him, Haldane was learning to 
indulge in such bitter soliloquy with increasing fre 


MR. GROWTHER BECOMES GIGANTIC. 


239 


qiiency. It is ever the tendency of those who find 
themselves at odds with the world, and in conflict 
with the established order of things, to inveigh with 
communistic extravagance against the conservatism 
and wary prudence which they themselves would 
have maintained had all remained well with them 
The Haldane who had meditated “ gloomy gran- 
deur ” would not have looked at the poor, besmirch- 
ed Haldane who had just accepted what the world 
would regard as charity. The only reason why the 
proud, aristocratic youth could tolerate and make 
excuse for the disreputable character who was glad 
to eat the dinner given by Jeremiah Growther, was 
that this same ill-conditioned fellow was himself. 
Thus every bitter thing which he said against society 
was virtually self-condemnation. And yet his course 
was most natural, for men almost invariably forget 
that their views change with their fortunes. Thou- 
sands will at once form a positive opinion of a sub- 
ject from its aspect s*een at their stand-point, where 
one will walk around and scan it on all sides. 

Either to spite himself, or to show his confidence 
in one whom others regarded as utterly unworthy 
of trust, Mr. Growther remained away sufficiently 
long for Haldane to have made up a bundle of all 
the valuables in the house, and have escaped. The 
young man soon discovered that there were valua- 
bles, but any thing like vulgar theft never entered 
his mind. That people should believe him capable 
of acting the part of a common thief was one of the 
strange things in his present experience which he 
could not understand. 


240 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

Finally, to the immense relief of the honest and 
conservative dog, that had growled himself hoarse, 
Haldane gave the room its finishing touches, and 
betook himself to the wood -pile again. The cat 
watched his departure with philosophic composure. 
Like many fair ladies, she had thought chiefly of 
herself during the interview with the stranger, from 
whom she had managed to secure a little agreeable 
attention without giving any thing in return ; and, 
now tha* it was over, she complacently purred her- 
self to sleep, with nothing to regret. 

Hullo ! you’re here yet, eh ! ” said Mr. Growther, 
entering the gate. 

Can you name any good reason why I should 
not be here?” asked Haldane, somewhat nettled. 

“ No, but I could plenty of bad reasons.” 

“ Keep them to yourself then,” said the young 
man, sullenly resuming his work. 

“You talk as if you was an honest man,” growled 
the old gentleman, hobbling into the house. 

Sitting down in his stout oak chair to rest himself, 
he stared in silence for a time at the changes that 
Haldane had wrought. At last he commenced, 

“ Now, Jeremiah Growther, I hope you can see 
that you are a perfect pig ! I hope you can see that 
dirt and confusion are your nateral elements ; and 
you had to live like a pig till a boy just out of jail 
came to show you what it was to live like a decent 
human. But you’ve been showed before, and you’ll 
get things mixed up to-morrow. A-a-h ! 

“ Where’s that young fellow goin’ to sleep to- 
night? That’s none o’ your business. Yes ’tis my 


MR. GROWTHER BECOMES GIGANTIC, 


241 


business, too. I’m always mighty careful to know 
where I’m goin’ to sleep and if I don’t sleep well 
my cat and dog hear from me the next day. You 
could be mighty comfortable to-night in your good 
bed with this young chap sittin’ on a curb-stun in 
the rain ; but I be hanged if you shall be. It’s be- 
ginnin’ to rain now — it’s goin’ to be a mean night — 
mean as yourself — a cold, oncomfortable drizzle ; 
just such a night as makes these poor homeless 
devils feel that since they are half under water they 
might as well go down to the river and get under 
altogether. P’raps they do it sometimes in the hope 
of finding a warm, dry place somewhere. Dreadful 
suddint change for ’em, though ! And it’s we re- 
spectable, comfortable people that’s to blame for 
these suddint changes half the time* 

“You know that heady young chap out there will 
go to the bad if somebody don’t pull him up. You 
know that it would be mean as dirt to let him go 
wanderin’ off to-night with only fifty cents in his 
pocket, tryin’ to find some place to put his head in 
out of the storm ; and yet you want to git out of 
doin’ any thing more for him. You’re thinkin’ how 
much more comfortable it will be to sit dozin’ in 
your chair, and not have any stranger botherin’ 
round. But I’ll head you off agin in spite of your 
cussed, mean, stingy, selfish, old, shriveled-up soul, 
that would like to take its ease even through 
the hull world was a-groanin outside the door. 
A-a-h ! ” 

Having made it clear to the perverse Jeremiah 
Growther — against whom he seemed to hold such an 

II 


242 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

inveterate spite — what he must do, he arose and 
called to Haldane. 

‘‘What are you doin’ out there in the rain?” 

“ I’ll be through in a few minutes.” 

I don’t want the rest done till mornin*.” 

“ It will pay neither of us for me to come back 
here to do what’s left.” 

“ It may pay you, and as to its payin’ me, that’s 
my business.” 

“ Not altogether — I wish to do my work on busi- 
ness principles ; I haven’t got down to charity yet.” 

“Well, have your own way, then; I s’pose other 
folks have a right to have it as well as myself, some- 
times. Come in soon as you are through.” 

By the time Haldane finished his task the clouds 
had settled heayly all around the horizon, hasten- 
ing forward an early and gloomy twilight, and the 
rain was beginning to fall steadily. His mood com- 
ported with the aspect of sky and earth, and weari- 
ness, the fast ally of despondency, aided in giving a 
leaden hue to the future and a leaden weight to his 
thoughts. The prospect of trudging a mile or more 
through the drenching rain to his previous squalid 
resting-place at No. 13, whose only attraction con- 
sisted in the fact that no questions were asked, was 
BO depressing that he decided to ask Mr. Growther 
for permission to sleep in the corner of his wood- 
shed. 

“ Come in,” shouted Mr. Growther, in response 
to his knock at the door. 

, “ I’m through,” said Haldane laconically. 

“ Well, I ain’t,” replied Mr. Growther ; “ you 


MR. GROWTHER BECOMES GIGANTIC. 


243 

wouldn’t mind taking that cheer till I am, would 
you ? ” 

Haldane found the cushioned arm-chair and the 
genial fire exceedingly to his taste, and he felt that 
in such comfortable quarters he could endure hear- 
ing the old man berate himself or any one else for 
an hour or more. 

Where are you goin’ to sleep to-night ? ” asked 
his quaint-visaged host. 

“ That is a problem I had been considering my- 
self,” answered Haldane, dubiously. “ I had about 
concluded that, rather than walk back through the 
rain to the wretched place at which I slept last 
night, I would ask for the privilege of sleeping in 
your wood-shed. It wouldn’t be much worse than 
the other place, or any place in which I could find 
lodging if 1 were known. Since I did not steal your 
silver I suppose you can trust me with your wood.” 

Yet they say your folks is rich.” 

Yes, I can go to as elegant a house as there is 
in this city.” 

“ Why in thunder don’t you go there, then ? ” 

“ Because I would rather be in your wood-shed and 
other places like it for the present.” 

I can’t understand that.” 

“ Perhaps not, but there are worse things than 
sleeping hard and cold. There are people who suf- 
fer more through their minds than their bodies. I 
am not going back among my former acquaintances 
till I can go as a gentleman.” 

The old man looked at him approvingly a mo- 
ment, and then said sententiously, 


244 night of the NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

** Well, you may be a bad cuss, but you ain’t a 
mean one.” 

Haldane laughed outright. ** Mr. Growther,” said 
he, ** you do me honor. I foresee you will trust me 
with your wood-pile to-night.” 

“ No, I won’t nuther. You might not take my 
wood, but you would take cold, and then I’d have 
to nuss you and pay doctor’s bills, and bother with 
you a week or more. I might even have your fune- 
ral on my hands. You needn’t think you’re goin’ 
to get me into all this trouble, fur I’m one that 
hates trouble, unless it’s fur myself ; and, if I do 
say it, it’s askin’ a little too much of me, almost a 
stranger, to ’tend to your funeral. I don’t like fune- 
rals — never did — and I won’t have nothin’ to do 
with yours. There’s a room right up stairs here, 
over the kitchen, where you can sleep without 
wakin’ up the hull neighborhood a coughin’ before 
mornin’. Now don’t say nothin’ more about it. 
I’m thinkin’ of myself plaguey sight more’n I am of 
you. If I could let you go to the dogs without 
worryin’ about it. I’d jio it quick enough ; but I’ve 
got a miserable, sneakin’ old conscience that won’t 
stand right up and make me do right, like a man : 
but when I want to do somethin’ mean it begins a 
gnawin’ and a gnawin’ at me till I have to do what I 
oughter for the sake of a little peace and comfort. 
A-a-h ! ” 

** Your uncomfortable conscience seems bent on 
making me very comfortable; and yet I pledge you 
my word that I will stay only on one condition, and 
that is, that you let me get supper and breakfast for 


MR. GROWTHER BECOMES GIGANTIC. 


245 


you, and also read the paper aloud this evening. I 
can see that you are tired and lame from your walk 
Will you agree ? ” 

“ Can’t very well help myself. These easterly 
storms allers brings the rheumatiz into my legs. 
About all they are good fur now is to have the 
rheumatiz in ’em. So set plates for two, and fire 
ahead.” 

Haldane entered into his tasks with almost boyish 
zest. “ I’ve camped out in the woods, and am con- 
siderable of a cook,” said he. “ You shall have some 
toast browned to a turn, to soak in your tea, and 
then you shall have some more with hot cream 
poured over it. I’ll shave the smoked beef so thin 
that you can see to read through it.” 

** Umph ! I can’t see after dark any more than 
an old hen.” 

“ How did you expect to read the paper then?” 
asked Haldane, without pausing in his labors. 

I only read the headin’s. I might as well make 
up the rest as the editors, fur then I can make it up 
to suit me. It’s all made up half the time, you know.” 

Well, you shall hear the editors’ yarns to-night 
then, by way of variety.” 

The old man watched the eager young fellow as 
he bustled from the cupboard to the table, and from 
the store-closet to the fireplace, with a kindly twin- 
kle in his small eyes, from which the deep wrin- 
kles ran in all directions and in strange complexity. 
There could scarcely be a greater contrast than that 
between the headstrong and stalwart youth and the 
withered and eccentric hermit * but it would seem 


246 JCNIGH7' OP THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

that mutual kindness is a common ground on which 
all the world can meet and add somewhat to each 
other’s welfare. 

The sound hard wood which Haldane had just 
sawn into billets blazed cheerily on the hearth, fill- 
ing the quaint old kitchen with weird and flickering 
lights and shades. Mr. Growther was projected 
against the opposite wall in the aspect of a benevo- 
lent giant, and perhaps the large, kindly, but unsub- 
stantial shadow was a truer type of the man than the 
shriveled anatomy with which the town was famil- 
iar. The conservative dog, no longer disquieted by 
doubts and fears, sat up and blinked approvingly at 
the preparation for supper. The politic cat, now 
satisfied that any attentions to the stranger would 
not compromise her, and might lead to another deli- 
cate morsel, fawned against his legs, and purred as 
affectionately as if she had known him all her life and 
would not scratch him instantly if he did any thing 
displeasing to her. 

Take it altogether, it was a domestic scene which 
would have done Mrs. Arnot’s heart good to have 
witnessed ; but poor Mrs. Haldane would have sighed 
over it as so utterly unconventional as to be another 
proof of her son’s unnatural tastes. In her esti- 
mation he should spend social evenings only in aris- 
tocratic parlors ; and she mourned over the fact that 
from henceforth he was excluded from these privi- 
leged places of his birthright, with a grief only less 
poignant than her sorrow over what seemed to her 
a cognate truth, that his course and character also 
excluded him from heaven. 


MOfV PUBLIC OPINION IS OFTEN MADE, 247 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

HOW PUBLIC OPINION IS OFTEN MADE. 

** T DON’T s’pose there’s any use of two such 

X reprobates as us thinkin’ about sayin’ grace,” 
said Mr. Growther, taking his place at the head of 
the table ; ** and yet, as I said, I allers have a sneak- 
in’ wish jest to go through the form ; so we’ll all be- 
gin in the same way — cat and dog and God’s rational 
critters. Howsomever, they don’t know no better, 
and so their consciences is clear. I’ll own up this 
toast is good, if I am eatin’ it like a heathen. If 
you can’t find any thing else to do, you can take to 
cookin’ for a livin’.” 

** No one in town, save yourself, would trust me 
in their kitchen.” 

Well, it does seem as if a man had better lose 
every thing rather than his character,” said Mr. 
Growther thoughtfully. 

** Then it seems a pity a man can lose it so cursed 
easily,” added Haldane bitterly, “ for, having lost it, 
all the respectable and well-to-do would rather one 
should go to the devil a thousand times than give 
him a chance to win it back again.” 

** You put it rather strong — rather strong,” said 
the old man, shaking his head : “ for some leason or 


248 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

other I am not as mad at myself and every thing and 
everybody to-night as usual, and I can see things 
clearer. Be honest now. A month ago you belong- 
ed to the rich, high-flyin’ class. How much then 
would you have had to do with a young fellow of 
whom you knew only four things — that he gambled, 
got drunk, ’bezzled a thousand dollars, and had been 
in jail ? That’s all most people in town know about 
you.” 

Haldane laid down his knife and fork and fairly 
groaned. 

“ I know the plain truth is tough to hear and 
think about, and I’m an old brute to spile your sup- 
per by bringing it up. I hope you Won’t think I’m 
tryin’ to save some victuals by doin’ it. And yet 
it’s the truth, and you’ve got to face it. But face it 
to-morrow — face it to-morrow ; have a comfortable 
time to-night.” 

*‘Your statement of the case is perfectly bald,” 
said Haldane, with a troubled brow ; “ there are ex- 
planatory and excusing circumstances.” 

“Yes, no doubt; but the world don’t take much 
account of them. When one gits into a scrape, 
about the only question asked is, What did he do f 
And they all jump to the conclusion that if he did 
it once he’ll do it agin. Lookin’ into the circum- 
stances takes time and trouble, and it isn’t human 
nature to bother much about other people.” 

“ What chance is there, then, for such as I am ? ” 

The old man hitched uneasily on his chair, but 
at last, with his characteristic bluntness, said, 
“ Hanged if I know ! They say that them that gits 


BO IV PUBLIC OPINION IS CP TEN MADE, 249 

down doesn’t very often git up again. Yet I know 
they do sometimes.” 

What would you do if you were me ? ” 

“ Hanged if I know that either ! Sit down and 
cuss myself to all eternity, like enough. I feel like 
doin’ it sometimes as it is. A-a-h ! ” 

“ I think I know a way out of the slough,” said 
Haldane more composedly — his thoughts recurring 
to his literary hopes — “ and if I do, you will not be 
sorry.” 

“ Of course I won’t be sorry. A man allers hates 
one who holds a mortgage agajnst him which is 
sure to be foreclosed. That’s the way the devil’s 
got me, and I hate him about as bad as I do myself, 
and spite him every chance I git. Of course. I’ll 
be glad to see you git out of his clutches ; but he’s 
got his claws in you deep, and he holds on to a feller 
as if he’d pull him in two before he’ll let go.” 

“ Mr. Growther, I don’t want to get into a quar- 
rel with you, for I have found that you are very 
touchy on a certain point ; but I cannot help hinting 
that you are destined to meet a great disappointment 
when through with your earthly worry. I wish my 
chances were as good as yours.” 

' Now you are beginnin’ to talk foolishly. I shall 
never be rid of myself, and so will never be rid of 
my worry.” 

** Well, well, we won’t discuss the question ; it’s 
too deep for us both ; but in my judgment it will be 
a great piece of injustice if you ever find a warmer 
place than your own hearthstone.” 

“ That’s mighty hot, sometimes, boy ; and, be- 


II 


250 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

sides, your judgment hasn’t led you very straight 
so far,” said the old man testily. But don’t talk 
of such things. I don’t want to come to ’em till I 
have to.” 

Suppose I should become rich and famous, 
Mr. Growther,” said Haldane, changing the subject ; 
“ would you let me take a meal with you then? ” 

“ That depends. If you put on any airs I wouldn’t.” 

“ Good for you ! ” 

“ O, I’d want to make much of you, and tell how 
I helped you when you was down, and so git all 
the reflected glory I could out of you. I’ve learned 
how my sneakin’ old speret pints every time ; but 
I’ll head it off, and drive it back as I would a fox 
into its hole.” 

In spite of some rather harrowing and gloomy 
thoughts on the part of two of them, the four in- 
mates of the cottage made a very comfortable sup- 
per ; for Mr. Growther always insisted that since his 
cat and dog could stand him,” they should fare as 
well as he did. 

Having cleared the table, Haldane lighted a can- 
dle — kerosene lamps were an abomination that Mr. 
Growther would not abide — and began reading 
aloud the Evening Spy. The old gentleman half lis- 
tened and half dozed, pricking up his ears at some 
tale of trouble or crime, and almost snoring through 
politics and finance. At last he was half startled out 
of his chair by a loud, wrathful oath from Haldane. 

“ Look here, young man,” he said ; “ the devil 
isn’t so far off from either of us that you need shout 
for him.” 





















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/row PUBLIC OPINION IS OFTEN MADE, 25 1 

“ True, indeed ! he isn’t far off, and he has every 
thing his own way in this world. Listen to this — * 
and he read with sharp, bitter emphasis the follow- 
ing editorial paragraph, headed “ Unnatural Deprav- 

ity:" 

Being ever inclined to view charitably the faults 
and failings of others, and to make allowance for the 
natural giddiness of youth, we gave a rather lenient 
estimate, not of the crime committed by Mr. Arnot’s 
clerk, Egbert Haldane, but of the young man him- 
self. It would seem that our disposition to be 
kindly led us into error, for we learn from our most 
respectable German contemporary, published in this 
city, that this same unscrupulous young fraud has 
been guilty of the meanness of taking advantage of 
a poor foreigner’s ignorance of our language. Hav- 
ing found it impossible to obtain lodgings among 
those posted in the current news of the day, and 
thus to impose on any one to whom he was known, 
he succeeded in obtaining board of a respectable 
German, and ran up as large a bill as possible at the 
bar, of course. When the landlord of the hotel and 
restaurant at last asked for a settlement, this young 
scapegrace had the insolence to insist that he had 
paid every cent of his bill, though he had not a scrap 
of paper or proof to support his assertion. Finding 
that this game of bluster would not succeed, and 
that his justly incensed host was about to ask for 
his arrest, he speedily came down from his high and 
virtuous mood, and compromised by pretending to 
offer all the money he had. 

** This was undoubtedly a mere pretense, for he 


252 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

had worn a valuable watch in the morning, and had 
parted with it during the day. Though the sum he 
apparently had upon his person was scarcely half 
payment, the kind-hearted German took him at his 
word, and also left him seventy-five cents to procure 
lodgings elsewhere. In what rdle of crime he will 
next appear it is hard to guess ; but it seems a pity 
that Mr. Arnot did not give him the full benefit of 
the law, for thus the community would have been 
rid, for a time at least, of one who can serve his day 
and generation better at breaking stone under the 
direction of the State than by any methods of his 
own choosing. He is one of those phenomenal 
cases of unnatural depravity ; for, as far as we can 
learn, he comes from a home of wealth, refinement, 
and even Christian culture. We warn our fellow- 
citizens against him.” 

“ A-a-a-h ! ” ejaculated Mr. Growther, in prolonged 
and painful utterance, as if one of his teeth had just 
been drawn. Now that is tough ! I don’t wonder 
you think Satan had a finger in that pie. Didn’t I 
tell you the editors made up half that’s in the pa- 
pers? I don’t know what started this story. There’s 
generally a little beginning, like the seed of a big 
flauntin’ weed ; but I don’t believe you did so mean 
a thing. In fact, I don’t think I’m quite mean 
enough to have done it myself.” 

“You, and perhaps one other person, will be the 
only ones in town, then, who will not believe it 
against me. I know I’ve acted wrong and like a 
fool; but what chance has a fellow when he gets 
credit for evil only, and a hundred-fold more evil 


HOW PUBLIC OPINION IS OFTEN MADE. 253 

than IS in him ? Curse it all ! since every one insists 
that I have gone wholly over to the devil, I might 
as well go/* 

That’s it, that’s it ! we’re all right at his elbow, 
a-helpin’ him along. But how did this story start ^ 
The scribbler in the German paper couldn't have 
spun it, like a spider, hully out of his own in’ards.” 

Haldane told him the whole story, sketching the 
“ kind-hearted German ” in his true colors. 

At its conclusion Mr. Growther drew a long, medi- 
tative breath, and remarked sententiously, “Well 
I’ve allers heard that ’sperience was an awfully dear 
school; but we do learn in it. I’ll bet my head you 
will never pay another dollar without takin’ a re- 
ceipt.” 

“ What chance will I ever have to make another 
dollar? They have raised a mad-dog cry against 
me, and I shall be treated as if I were a dog.” 

“ Why don’t you go home, then ? ” 

“ I’ll go to the bottom of the river first.” 

“That would suit the devil, the crabs, and the 
eels,” remarked Mr. Growther. 

“Faugh! crabs and eels!” exclaimed Haldane 
with a shudder of disgust. 

“ That’s all you’d find at the bottom of the river, 
except mud,” responded Mr. Growther, effectually 
quenching all tragic and suicidal ideas by his pro- 
saic statement of the facts. “ Young man,” he 
continued tottering to his feet, “ I s’pose you real- 
ize that you are in a pretty bad fix. I ain’t much 
of a mother at comfortin’. When I feel most sorry 
for any one I’m most crabbed. It’s one of my mean 


254 knight of the nineteenth century. 

ways. If there’s many screws loose in you, you will 
go under. If you are rash, or cowardly, or weak— 
that is, ready to give up-like — you will make a final 
mess of your life ; but if you fight your way up 
you’ll be a good deal of a man. Seems to me if I 
was as young and strong as you be. I’d pitch in. I’d 
spite myself ; I’d spite the devil ; I’d beat the world ; 
I’d just grit my teeth, and go fur myself and every 
thing else that stood in my way, and I’d whip ’em 
all out, or I’d die a-fightin’. But I’ve got so old and 
rheumatic that all I can do is cuss. A-a-h ! ” 

“ I will take your advice — I will fight it out,” 
exclaimed the excitable youth with an oath. Be- 
tween indignation and desperation he was thoroughly 
aroused. He already cherished only revenge to- 
ward the world, and he was catching the old man’s 
vindictive spirit toward himself. 

Mr. Growther seemed almost as deeply incensed 
as his guest at the gross injustice of the paragraph, 
which, nevertheless, would be widely copied, and 
create public opinion, and so double the difficulties 
in the young man’s way ; and he kept up as steady 
a grumble and growl as had his sorely disquieted 
dog in the afternoon. But Haldane lowered at the 
fire for a long time in silence. 

“ Well,” concluded the quaint old cynic, matters 
can’t be mended by swearin’ at ’em, is advice I often 
give myself, but never take. I s’pose it’s bed-time. 
To-morrow we will take another squint at your ugly 
fortunes, and see which side pints toward daylight. 
Would you mind readin’ a chapter in the Bible 
first 


IfOlV PUBLIC OPINION TS OFTEN MADE. .-, 5 ^ 

“What have I to do with the Bible?” 

“ Well, the Bible has a good deal to say about you 
and most other people.” 

“ Like those who pretend to believe it, it has 
nothing good to say about me. Fve had about all 
the hard names I can stand for one night.” 

“ Read where it hits some other folks, then.” 

“ O, I will read anywhere you like. It’s a pity if 
I can’t do that much for perhaps the only one now 
left in the world who would show me a kindness.” 

“ That’s a good fellow. There’s one chapter I’d 
like to hear to-night. The words come out so strong 
and hearty-like that they generally express just my 
feelin’s. Find the twenty-third chapter of Matthew, 
and read where it says, ‘ Woe unto you, scribes and 
Pharisees, hypocrites.’ ” 

Haldane read the chapter with much zest, credit- 
ing all its denunciation to others, in accordance with 
a very general fashion. When he came to the words, 
“ Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers,” the old mar. 
fairly rubbed his hands together in his satisfaction, 
exclaiming: 

“ That’s it ! that’s genuine ! that’s telling us sleek, 
comfortable sinners the truth without mincin’! No 
smooth, deludin’ lies in that chapter. That’s the 
way to talk to people who don’t want their right 
hand to know what cussedness their left hand is up 
to. Now, Jeremiah Growther, the next time you 
want to do a mean thing that you wouldn’t have 
all the town know, just remember what a wrigglin’ 
snake in the grass you are.” 

With this personal exhortation Mr Growther 
6 


256 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

brought the evening to a close, and, having directed 
Haldane to his comfortable quarters, hobbled and 
mumbled off to an adjoining room, and retired for 
the night. The dying fire revealed for a time the 
slumbering cat and dog, but gradually the quaint 
old kitchen faded into a blank of darkness. 


A PAPER PONIARD. 


857 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A PAPER PONIARD. 

H ROUGH OUT an early breakfast Mr. Grow- 



X ther appeared to be revolving some subject 
in his mind, and his question, at last, was only seem- 
ingly abrupt, for it ^me at the end of quite a long 
mental altercation, in which, of course, he took sides 
against himself. 

“ I say, young man, do you think you could stand 


“ What do you mean ? ’’ asked Haldane. 

Well, before you say no, you ought to realize all 
the bearings of the case. The town is d^n on you. 
Respectable people won’t have nothin’ to do with 
you, any more than they \^uld walk arm in arm 
with the charcoal-man in their Sunday toggery. I 
aren’t respectable, so you can’t biacken m«. I’ve 
showed 5^ou I’m not afraid to trust you. You can t 
sleep in the streets, you can’t eat pavin’-stuns and 
mud, and you won’t go home. This brings me to 
the question again : Can you stand me ? I warn 
you I’m an awful oncomfortable customer fo live 
with ; I won’t take afly mean advantage of you in 
this respect, and, what’s more, I don’t s’pose I’ll 
behave any better for your sake or any body else’s 


258 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

rcn all finished and cooled off, like an old ir6n cast* 
ing, and can’t be bent or made over in any other 
shape. You’re crooked enough, the Lord knows ; 
but you’re kind o’ limber yet in your moral jints, 
and you may git yourself in decent shape if you have 
a chance. I’ve taken a notion to give you a chance. 
The only question is, Can you stand me?” 

“ It would be strange if I could not stand the only 
man in Hillaton who was shown a human and friend- 
ly interest in me. But the thing I can’t stand is 
taking charity.” 

“ Who’s asked you to take charity? ” 

“ What else would it be — my living here on you? ” 

“ I can open a boardin’-house if I want to, can’t 
I ? I have a right to lend my own money, I s’pose. 
You can open a ledger account with me to a penny. 
What’s more, I’ll give you a receipt every time,’’ 
added the old man, with a twinkle in his eye ; 

“ you don’t catch me gettin’ into the papers as ‘ kind- 
hearted ’ Mr. Growther.” 

“ Mr. Growther, I can scarcely understand your 
kindness to me, for I have no claim on you what- 
ever. As much as I would like to accept your offer, 

I scarcely feel it right to do so. I will bring discre- 
dit to you with certainty, and my chances of repay- 
ing you seem very doubtful now.” 

“ Now, look here, young man. I’ve got to take my 
choice ’twixt two evils. On one side is you. I 
don’t want you botherin’ round, seein’ my mean 
ways. For the sake of decency I’ll have to try to * 
hold in a little before you, while before my cat and 
dog I can let put as I please; so I’d rather live alone 


A PAPER PONIARD, 


259 


But the tother side is a plaguy sight worse. If I 
should let you go a-wanderin’ off you don’t know 
where, the same as if I should start my dog off with 
a kick, knowin’ that every one else in town would 
add a kick or fire a stun, I couldn’t sleep nights or 
enjoy my vittels. I’d feel so mean that I should 
jest set and cuss myself from mornin’ till night. 
Look here, now ; I couldn’t stan’ it,” concluded Mr. 
Growther, overcome by the picture of his own wretch- 
edness. “Let’s have no more words. Come back 
every night till you can do better. Open an account 
with me. Charge what you please for board and lodg- 
in’, and pay all back with lawful interest, if it’ll make 
you sleep better.” And so it was finally arranged. 

Haldane started out into the sun-lighted streets 
of the city as a man might sally forth in an enemy’s 
country, fearing the danger that lurked on every 
side, and feeling that his best hope was that he 
might be unnoted and unknown. He knew that 
the glance of recognition would also be a glance of 
aversion and scorn, and, to his nature any manifesta- 
tion of contempt was worse than a blow. He now 
clung to his literary ventures as the one rope by 
which he could draw himself out of the depths into 
which he had fallen, and felt sure that he must hear 
from some of his manuscripts within a day or two. 
He went to the post-office in a tremor of anxiety 
only to hear the usual response, “ Nothing for E. H.’ 

With heavy steps and a sinking heart he then set 
out in his search for something to do, and after 
walking weary miles he found only a small bit of 
work, for which he received but small compensation- 


2 bo KN-IGHT OF TITE JVmE TFEN’T/’/ CENTURY. 

He returned despondently in the evening to his 
refuge at Mr. Growther’s cottage, and his quaint 
good Samaritan showed his sympathy by maintain- 
ing a perpetual growl at himself and the “disjinted 
world ’ in general. But Haldane lowered at the fire 
and said little. 

Several successive days brought disappointment, 
discouragement, and even worse. The slanderous 
paragraph concerning his relations with Mr. Shrumpf 
was copied by the Morning Cotirur., with even fuller 
and severer comment. Occasionally upon the street 
and in his efforts to procure employment, he was 
recognized, and aversion, scorn, or rough dismissal 
followed instantly. 

For a time he honestly tried to obtain the means 
of livelihood, but this became more and more diffi- 
cult. People of whom he asked employment natu- 
rally inquired his name, and he was fairly learning 
to hate it from witnessing the malign changes in 
aspect and manner which its utterance invariably 
produced. The public had been generally warned 
against him, and to the natural distrust inspired by 
his first crime was added a virtuous indignation at 
the supposed low trickery in his dealing with the 
magnanimous Mr. Shrumpf, “ the poor but kind- 
hearted German.” Occasionally, that he might se- 
cure a day’s work in full or in part, he was led to 
suppress his name and give an alias. 

He felt as if he had been caught in a swift black 
torrent that was sweeping him down in spite of all 
that he could do ; he also felt that the black tide 
would eventually plunge him into an abyss into 


A PAPER PONIARD. 


261 


which he dared not look. He struggled hard to re- 
gain a footing, and clutched almost desperately at 
every thing that might impede or stay his swift de- 
scent ; but seemingly in vain. 

His mental distress was such that he was unable 
to write, even with the aid of stimulants ; and he 
also felt that it was useless to attempt anything fur- 
ther until he heard from the manuscripts already in 
editorial hands. But the ominous silence in regard 
to them remained unbroken. As a result, he began 
to give way to moods of the deepest gloom and de- 
spondency, which alternated with wild and reckless 
impulses. 

He was growing intensely bitter toward himself 
and all mankind. Even the image of his kind 
friend, Mrs. Arnot, began to merge itself into merely 
that of the wife of the man who had dealt him 
a blow from which he began to fear he would never 
recover. He was too morbid to be just to any one, 
even himself, and he felt that she had deserted and 
turned against him also, forgetting that he had given 
her no clue to his present place of abode, and had 
sent a message indicating that he would regard any 
effort to discover him as officious and intrusive. He 
quite honestly believed that by this time she had 
come to share in the general contempt and hostility 
which is ever cherished toward those whom society 
regards as not only depraved and vile, but also dan- 
gerous to its peace. It seemed as if both she and 
Laura had receded from him to an immeasurable 
distance, and he could not think of either without 
almost gnashing his teeth in rage at himself, and at 


262 KMIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

what he regarded as his perverse and cruel fate, 
At times he would vainly endeavor to banish their 
images from his mind, but more often would indulge 
in wild and impossible visions of coming back to 
them in a dazzling halo of literary glory, and of 
overwhelming them with humiliation that they were 
so slow to recognize the genius which smoldered for 
weeks under their very eyes. 

But his dreams were in truth “ baseless fabrics,*' 
for at last there came a letter addressed to E. H.,*' 
with the name of a popular literary paper printed 
upon it. He clutched it with a hand that shook in 
his eagerness, and walked half a mile before finding 
a nook sufficiently secluded in which to open the 
fateful missive. There were moments as he has- 
tened through the streets when the crumpled letter 
was like a live coal in his hand ; again it seemed 
throbbing with life, and he held it tighter, as though 
it might escape. With a chill at heart he also ad- 
mitted that this bit of paper might be a poniard 
that would stab his hope and so destroy him. 

He eventually entered a half-completed dwelling, 
which some one had commenced to build but was 
not able to finish. It was a wretched, prosaic place, 
that apparently had lost its value even to the owner, 
and had become to the public at large only an un- 
sightly blot upon the street. There was no danger 
of his being disturbed here, for the walls were not 
sufficiently advanced to have ears, and even a mod- 
ern ghost would scorn to haunt a place whose stains 
were not those of age, and whose crumbling ruins 
resulted only from superficial and half-finished work. 


A PAPER PONIARD. 


263 

Indeed, the prematurely old and abortive house had 
its best counterpart in the young man himself, who 
stole into one of its small, unplastered rooms with 
many a wary glance, as though it were a treasure- 
vault which he was bent on plundering. 

Feeling at last secure from observation, he trem 
blingly opened the letter, which he hoped contained 
the first installment of wealth and fame. It was, 
indeed, from the editor of the periodical, and, re- 
membering the avalanche of poetry and prose from 
beneath which this unfortunate class must daily 
struggle into life and being, it was unusually kind 
and full ; but to Haldane it was cruel as death — a 
Spartan short-sword, only long enough to pierce his 
heart. It was to the following effect : 

E. H. — Dear Sir: — It would be easier to throw your communica- 
tion into the waste-basket than thus to reply ; and such, I may add, 
is the usual fate of productions like yours. But something in your 
letter accompanying the MSS. caught my attention, and induced me 
to give you a little good advice, which I fear you will not take, how- 
ever. You are evidently a young and inexperienced man, and I 
gather from your letter that you are in trouble of some nature, and. 
also, that you are building hopes,* if not actually depending, upon 
the crude labors of your pen. Let me tell you frankly at once that 
literature is not your forte. If you have sent literary work to other 
parties like that inclosed to me you will never hear from it again. 
In the first place, you do not write correctly ; in the second, you have 
nothing to say. We cannot afford to print words merely — m jich less 
pay for them. What is worse, many of your sentences are so unna- 
tural and turgid as to suggest that you sought in stimulants a remedy 
for paucity of ideas. Take friendly advice. Attempt something 
that you are capable of doing, and build your hopes on that. Any 
honest work — even sawing wood — well done, is better than childish 
efforts to perform what, to us, is impossible. Before you can do any 
thing in the literary world it is evident that years of culture and care- 
ful reading would be necessary. But, as I have before said, youi 


264 k'night of the nineteenth century. 


talents do not seem to lie in this direction. Life is too precious to 
be wasted in vain endeavor; and that reminds me that I have spent 
several moments, and from the kindliest motives, in stating to you 
facts whioh you may regard as insults. But were the circumstances 
the same I would give my own son the same advice. Do not be dis- 
couraged ; there is plenty of other work equally good and mseful as 
that for which you seem unfitted. 


Faithfully yours, 


A SORRY KNIGHT. 


265 


CHAPTER XXVT. 

A SORRY KNIGHT. 

T he writer has known men to receive mortal 
wounds in battle, of which, at the moment, they 
were scarcely conscious. The mind, in times of 
grand excitement, has often risen so far superior to 
the material body that only by trickling blood or 
faintness have persons become aware of their inju- 
ries. But ‘‘a wounded spirit, who can bear?” and 
when did hope, self-love, or pride, ever receive home- 
thrusts unconsciously ? 

The well-meaning letter, written by the kindly 
editor, and full of wholesome advice, cut like a sur- 
geon’s knife in some desperate case when it is a 
question whether the patient can endure the heroic 
treatment necessary. Haldane’s stilted and unnatu- 
ral tales had been projected into being by such fiery 
and violent means that they might almost be termed 
volcanic in their origin ; but the fused mass which 
was the result, resembled scoria or cinders rather 
than fine metal shaped into artistic forms. Al- 
though his manuscripts could have been sold in 
the world’s market only by the pound, he had be< 
lieved, or, at least, strongly hoped otherwise, like so 
many others, who, with beating hearts, have sent 


266 K NIG til OF THE NINETEENTH CENTUEY. 

the children of their brains out to seek their fortunes 
with no better results. 

The unbroken and ominous silence or the re- 
turned manuscript is a severe disappointment even 
to those who from safe and happy homes have 
sought to gain the public ear, and whose impelling 
motive toward literature is scarcely more than an 
impulse of vanity. But to Haldane the letter, 
which in giving the editorial estimate of one of his 
stories revealed the fate of all the others, brought far 
more than a mere disappointment. It brought de- 
spair and the recklessness and demoralization which 
inevitably follow. The public regarded him as a 
depraved, commonplace vagabond, eminent only in 
his capacity for evil and meanness, and he now in- 
clined strongly to the same view of himself. True 
self-respect he had never possessed, and his best 
substitute, pride, at last gave way. He felt that he 
was defeated for life, and the best that life could 
now offer was a brief career of sensual pleasure. 
Mrs. Arnot and Laura Romeyn were as far removed 
from him as the stars ; it was torment to think of 
them, and he would blot out their memory and the 
memory of all that he had hoped for, with wine and 
excitement. It seemed to him that the world said 
to him with united voice, “ Go to the devil,” and 
then made it impossible for him to do otherwise. 

Since he was defeated, — since all his proud assur, 
ances to his mother that he would, alone and unaid- 
ed, regain his lost good name and position in society 
had proved but empty boasts, — he would no longer 
hide the fact from her, not in the hope of being 


A SORRY KNIGHT. 


267 


received at home as a repentant prodigal (even the 
thought of such a course was unendurable), but with 
the purpose of obtaining from her the means of en- 
tering upon a life of vicious pleasure. 

The young man’s father — impelled both by his 
strong attachment for his wife, and also by the pru- 
dent forethought with which men seek to protect 
and provide for those they love, long after they have 
passed away from earthly life — had left his property 
wholly in trust to his wife, associating with her one 
or two other chosen counselors. As long as she 
lived and remained unmarried she controlled it> the 
husband trusting to her affection for her children to 
make suitable provision for them. He had seen with 
prophetic anxiety the mother’s fond indulgence of 
their only son, and the practical man dreaded the con- 
sequences. He therefore communicated to her ver- 
bally, and also embodied in his will, his wish that his 
son should have no control over the principal of 
such portion of the estate as would eventually fall 
to him until he had established a character that se- 
cured the confidence of all good men, and satisfied 
the judgment of the cautious co-executors. The 
provisions of the will still further required that, 
should the young man prove erratic and vicious, his 
income should be limited in such ways as would, as 
far as possible, curb excess. 

Haldane knew all this, and in the days of his 
confidence in himself and his brilliant future had 
often smiled at these “ absurd restrictions.” The 
idea that there would ever be any reason for their 
enforcement was preposterous, and the thought of 


268 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

his fond, weak mother refusing any thing that he 
demanded, was still further out of the range of pos- 
sibility. 

The wretched youth now sank into a far lower 
depth than he had ever yet reached. He deliber- 
ately resolved to take advantage of that mother’s 
weakness, and for the basest ends. While under the 
influence of hope and pride, he had resolved to re- 
ceive no assistance even from her, so *that he might 
wholly claim the credit of regaining all that he had 
lost ; but now. in the recklessness of despair, he 
proposed not only to ask for all the money he could 
obtain, but, if necessaiy extort it by any means in 
his power. 

He and the forlorn place of his bitter revery grew 
more and more into harmony. The small, half-fin- 
ished apartment of the ruinous new house became 
more truly the counterpart of his life. It was bare • 
it was unsightly from the debris of its own discolored 
and crumbling walls. The possibility of sweet home 
scenes had passed from it, and it had become a place 
in which an orgy might be hidden, or some revolt- 
ing crime committed. To precisely this use Hal* 
dane put his temporary refuge before leaving it; 
for excesses and evil deeds that the mind has de- 
liberately resolved upon are virtually accomplished 
facts as far as the wrong-doer is concerned. Before 
leaving his dingy hiding-place Haldane had in the 
depths of his soul been guilty of drunkenness and 
all kinds of excess. He also purposed unutteiable 
baseness toward the widowed mother whom, by 
every principle of true manhood, he was bound to 


A SORRY KNIGHT. 


269 


cherish and shield ; and he had in volition more 
ceitainly committed the act of self-destruction than 
does the poor wretch who, under some mad, half- 
insane impulse, makes permanent by suicide the 
evils a little fortitude and patient effort might have 
remedied. There is no self-murder so hopeless and 
wicked as that of deliberate sin against one’s own 
body and soul. 

No man becomes a saint or villain in an hour or 
by a single step ; but there are times when evil ten- 
dencies combine with adverse influences and circum- 
stances to produce sudden and seemingly fatal havoc 
in character. As the world goes, Haldane was a 
well-meaning youth, although cursed with evil hab- 
its and tendencies, when he entered the isolated, 
half-finished house. He was bad and devilish when 
he came out upon the street again, and walked reck- 
lessly toward the city, caring not who saw or recog- 
nized him. In the depths of his heart he had become 
an enemy to society, and, so far from hoping to 
gain its respect and good-will, he defied and intend- 
ed to outrage it to the end of life. 

A man in such a mood gravitates with almost 
certainty toward the liquor-saloon, and Haldane na- 
turally commenced drinking at the various dens 
whose doors stood alluringly open. His slender 
purse did not give him the choice of high-priced 
wines, and to secure the mad excitement and obliv'^ 
ion he craved, only fiery compounds were ordered — 
such as might have been distilled in the infernal re- 
gions to accomplish infernal results ; and they soon 
began to possess him like a legion of evil spirits. 


270 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

If Shakespeare characterized the invisible spirit 
of wine ” as a “ devil ” in the unsophisticated days 
of old, when wine was wine, and not a hell-broth 
concocted of poisonous drugs, what unspeakable 
fiends must lurk in the grimy bottles whose con- 
tents, analyzed and explained, would appall some, at 
least, of the stolid and stony-hearted venders ! 

Haldane soon felt himself capable of any wicked- 
ness, any crime. He became a human volcano, that 
might at any moment pass into a violent and mur- 
derous action, regardless of consequences- -indeed, 
as utterly incapable of foreseeing and realizing them 
as the mountain that belches destruction on vine- 
yard and village. 

We regard ourselves as a civilized and Christian 
people, and yet we tolerate on every corner places 
where men are transformed into incarnate devils, 
and sent forth to run amuck in our streets, and out- 
rage the helpless women and children in their own 
homes. The naked inhabitants of Dahomey could 
do no worse in this direction. 

But Haldane was not destined to end his orgy in 
the lurid glare of a tragedy, for, as the sun declined, 
the miserable day was brought to a wretched and 
fitting close. Unconsciously he had strayed to the 
saloon on whose low step Messrs. Van Wink and 
Ketchem had left him on the memorable night from 
which he dated his downfall. Of course he did not 
recognize the place, but there was one within that 
associated him inseparably with it, and also with 
misfortunes of his own. As Haldane leaned unstead 


A SORRY KNIGHT. 


271 


ily against the bar a seedy-looking man glared at 
him a moment, and then stepped to his side, say- 
ing, 

I’ll take a few dhrinks wid ye. Faix! after all 
the trouble ye’ve been to me ye oughter kape me in 
dhrink the year.” 

Turning to the speaker, the young man recognized 
Pat M’Cabe, whom he also associated with his evil 
fortunes, and toward whom he now felt a strong 
vindictiveness, the sudden and unreasoning anger 
of intoxication. In reply, therefore, he threw the 
contents of his glass into Pat’s face, saying with a 
curse, 

“ That is the way I drink with such as you.” 

Instantly there was a bar-room brawl of the ordi- 
nary brutal type, from whose details we* gladly es- 
cape. Attracted by the uproar, a policeman was 
soon on hand, and both the combatants were ar 
rested and marched off to the nearest police station. 
Bruised, bleeding, disheveled, and with rent gar- 
ments, Haldane again passed through the streets as 
a criminal, with the rabble hooting after him. But 
now there was no intolerable sense of shame as at 
first. He had become a criminal at heart ; he had 
deliberately and consciously degraded himself, and 
his whole aspect had come to be in keeping with his 
character. 

It may be objected that the transformation had 
been too rapid. It had not been rapid. His mothei 
commenced preparing him for this in the nursery by 
her weak indulgence. She had sown the seeds of 


KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

which his present actions were the legitimate out- 
growth. The weeds of his evil nature had been un 
checked when little, and now they were growing so 
rank as to overshadow all. 

Multitudes go to ruin who must trace their wrong 
bias back to cultivated and even Christian homes. 


GOD SENT ms ANGEL, 


m 


\ 


CHAPTER XXVII 

GOD SENT HIS ANGEL. 

T he mad excitement of anger and drunkenness 
was speedily followed by stupor, and the night 
during which Haldane was locked up in the station- 
house was a blank. The next morning he was de- 
cidedly ill as the result of his debauch ; for the after- 
effects of the vile liquor he had drank was such as to 
make any creature save rational man shun it in the 
future with utter loathing. 

But the officers of the law had not the slightest 
consideration for his aching head and jarring nerves. 
He was hustled off to the police court with others, 
and he now seemed in harmony with the place and 
company. 

Pat M’Cabe was a veteran in these matters, and 
had his witnesses ready, who swore to the truth, and 
any thing else calculated to assist Pat, their crony, 
out of his scrape. Unfortunately for Haldane, the 
truth was against him, and he remained sullen and 
silent, making no defense. The natural result, there- 
fore, of the brief hearing, was his committal to the 
common jail for ten days, and the liberation of Pat, 
with a severe reprimand. 

Thus, after the lapse of a few brief weeks, Hal- 
12* 


.374 knight of the NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

dane found himself in the same cell whence he had 
gone out promising and expecting to accomplish so 
much. He could not help recalling his proud words 
to his mother and Mrs Arnot as he looked around 
the bare walls, and he was sufficiently himself again 
to realize partially how complete and disgraceful 
had been his defeat. But such was his mood that it 
could find no better expression than a malediction 
upon himself and the world in general. Then, 
throwing himself upon his rude and narrow couch, 
he again resigned himself to his stupor, from which 
he had been aroused to receive his sentence. 

It was late in the afternoon when he awoke, and 
his cell was already growing dusky with the coming 
night. It was a place congenial to shadows, and 
they came early and lingered till the sun was high. 

But as Haldane slowly regained full consciousness, 
and recalled all that had transpired, he felt himself 
to be under a deeper shadow than the night could 
cast. The world condemned him, and he deserved 
condemnation ; but he was also deserving of pity. 
Scarcely more than twenty, he had seemingly spoiled 
his life utterly. It was torment to remember the 
past, and the future was still darker ; for his out- 
raged physical nature so bitterly resented its wrongs 
by racking pains that it now seemed to him that 
even a brief career of sensual gratification was im- 
possible, or so counterbalanced with suffering as to 
be revolting. Though scarcely more than across the 
threshold of life, existence had become an unmiti- 
gated evil. Had he been brought up in an atmo- 
sphere of flippant skepticism he would have flung 


GOD SENT HIS ANGEL. 


275 


it away as he would a handful of nettles ; but his 
childish memory had been made familiar with that 
ancient Book whose truths, like anchors, enable 
many a soul on the verge of wreck to outride the 
storm. He was too well acquainted with its teach- 
ings to entertain for a moment the shallow theory 
that a man can escape the consequences of folly, 
villainy, and unutterable baseness by merely ceasing 
to breathe. 

He could not eat the coarse food brought to him 
for supper, and his only craving was for something 
to quench his feverish thirst. His long lethargy 
was followed by corresponding sleeplessness and pre- 
ternatural activity of brain. That night became to 
him like the day of judgment ; for it seemed as if 
his memory would recall every thing he had evef 
done or said, and place all before him in the most 
dreary and discouraging aspect. 

He saw his beautiful and aristocratic home, which 
he had forfeited so completely that the prison would 
be more endurable than the forced and painful toler- 
ation of his presence, which was the best he could 
hope for from his mother and sisters ; and he felt 
that he would much rather stay where he was foi 
life than again meet old neighbors and companions. 
But he now saw how, with that home and his fa- 
ther's honored name as his vantage ground, he might 
have made himself rich and honored. 

The misspent days and years of the past became 
like so many reproachful ghosts, and he realized 
that he had idled away the precious seed-time of his 
life, or, rather, had been busy sowing thorns and net- 


2j6 knight of the nineteenth century. 

ties, that had grown all too quickly and rankly. Thou> 
sands had been spent on his education ; and yet he was 
oppressed with a sense of his ignorance and helpless- 
ness. Rude contact with the world had thoroughly 
banished self-conceit, and he saw that his mind was 
undisciplined and his knowledge so superficial and 
fragmentary as to be almost useless. The editor of 
the paper whose columus he had hoped to illumine 
told him that he could not even write correctly. 

While in bitterness of soul he cursed himself for 
his wasted life, he knew that he was not wholly to 
blame. Indeed, in accordance with a trait as old as 
fallen man, he sought to lay the blame on another. 
He saw that his own folly had ever found an ally in 
his mother’s indulgence, and that, instead of holding 
him with a firm, yet gentle hand to his tasks and 
duties, she had been the first to excuse him from 
them and to palliate his faults. Instead of recalling 
her fond and blind idolatry with tenderness, he felt 
like one who had been treacherously poisoned with 
a wine that was sweet while it rested on the palate, 
but whose after-taste is vile, and whose final effect is 
death 

There is no memory that we cherish so sacredly 
and tenderly as that of our parents’ kind and patient 
love. It often softens the heart of the hardened 
man and abandoned woman when all other influences 
are powerless. But when love degenerates into 
idolatry and indulgence, and those to whom the 
child is given as a sacred trust permit it to grow 
awry, and develop into moral deformity, men and 
womc"., as did Haldane, may breathe curses on the 


GOD SENT HIS ANGEL. 


277 


blindness and weakness that was the primal cause 
of their life-failure. Throughout that long and horri- 
ble night he felt only resentment toward his mother, 
and cherished no better purpose toward her than was 
embodied in his plan to wring from her, even by 
methods that savored of black-mail, the means of 
living a dissipated life in some city where he was un- 
known, and could lose himself in the multitude. 

But the ten days of enforced seclusion and solitude 
that must intervene seemed like an eternity. With 
a shudder he thought of the real eternity, beyond, 
when the power to excite or stupefy his lower nature 
would be gone forever. That shadow was so dark 
and cold that it seemed to chill his very soul, and by 
a resolute effort of will he compelled his mind to 
dwell only on the immediate future and the past. 

Day at last dawned slowly and dimly in his cell, 
and found him either pacing up and down like some 
wild creature in its cage, turning so often by reason of 
the limited space as to be almost dizzy, or else sitting 
on his couch with his haggard face buried in his hands. 

After fighting all night against the impulse to 
think about Mrs. Arnot and her niece, he at last 
gave up the struggle, and permitted his mind to re- 
vert to them. Such thoughts were only pain now, 
and yet for some reason it seemed as if his mind 
were drawn irresistibly toward them. He felt that 
his deep regret was as useless and unavailing as the 
November wind that sweeps back and forth the 
withered and fallen leaves. His whole frame would 
at times tremble with gusts of remorseful passion, 
and again he would sigh long and drearily. 


278 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

He now realized what a priceless opportunity he 
had lost. It was once his privilege to enter Mis. 
Arnot’s beautiful home assured of welcome. She 
had been deeply interested in him for his mother’s 
sake, and might have become so for his own. He 
had been privileged to meet Laura Romeyn as her 
equal, at least in social estimation, and he might 
have made himself worthy of her esteem, and pos- 
sibly of her affection. He saw that he had foolishly 
clamored, like a spoiled child, for that which he 
could only hope to possess by patient waiting and 
manly devotion ; and now, with a regret that was 
like a serpent’s tooth, he felt that such devotion 
might have been rewarded. 

But a few months ago, whose life had been more 
rich with promise than his, or to whom had been 
given a better vantage-ground? And yet he had 
already found the lowest earthly perdition possible, 
and had lost hope -of any thing better. 

In his impotent rage and despair he fairly gnashed 
his teeth and cursed himself, his fate, and those who 
had led to his evil fortunes. Then, by a natural 
revulsion of feeling, he sobbed like a child that has 
lost its way and can discover no returning path, and 
whose heart the darkness of the fast-approaching 
night fills with unutterable dread. 

He was a criminal — in his despair he never hoped 
to be any thing else — but he was not a hardened 
criminal and was still capable of wishing to be dif- 
ferent. In the memory of his bitter experience a 
pure and honorable life now appeared as beautiful 
as it was impossible. He had no expectation, how- 


GOD SENT HIS ANGEL. 


279 


ever, of ever living such a life, for pride, the corner- 
stone of his character, had given way, and he was 
too greatly discouraged at the time to purpose reform 
even in the future. Without the spur and incentive 
of hope we become perfectly helpless in evil ; there- 
fore all doctrines and philosophies which tend to 
quench or limit hope, or which are bounded by the 
narrow horizon of time and earth, are, in certain 
emergencies, but dead weights, dragging down the 
soul. 

At last, from sheer exhaustion, he threw himself 
on his couch, and fell into a troubled sleep, filled 
with broken and distorted visions of the scenes that 
had occupied his waking hours. But he gradually 
became quieter, and it appeared in his dream as if 
he saw a faint dawning in the east which grew 
brighter until a distinct ray of light streamed from 
an infinite distance to himself. Along this shining 
pathway an angel seemed approaching him. The 
vision grew so distinct and real that he started up 
and saw Sirs. Arnot sitting in the doorway, quietly 
watching him. Confused and oblivious of the past, 
he stepped forward to speak to her with the natural 
instinct of a gentleman. Then the memory of all that 
had occurred rolled before him, like a black torrent, 
and he shrank back to his couch and buried his face 
in his hands. But when Mrs. Arnot came and placed 
her hand on his shoulder, saying gently, but very 
gravely, ** Egbert, since you would not come to me 
I have come to you,” he felt that his vision was still 
true, and that God had sent his angel. 


28o knight of the nineteenth century. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

FACING THE CONSEQUENCES. 

YOUNS man of Hal(Jane’s age is capable of 



XX despairing thoughts, and even of desperate 
moods, of quite extended continuance ; but it usually 
requires a long life-time of disaster and sin to bury 
hope so deep that the stone of its sepulcher is not 
rolled away ^ the morning dawns. Haldane had 
thought that his hope was dead ; but Mrs. Arnot’s 
presence, combined with her nianner, soon made it 
clear, even to himself, that it was not ; and yet it 
was but a weak and trembling hope, scarcely assured 
of its right to exist, that revived at her touch and 
voice. His heart both clung to and shrank from the 
pure, good woman who stood beside him. 

He trembled, and his breast heaved convulsively 
for a few moments, and she quietly waited until he 
should grow more calm, only stroking his bowed 
head once or twice with a slight and reassuring ca- 
ressp. At last he asked in a low, hoarse voice, 

“ Do you know why I am here ? 

“ Yes, Egbert.” 

“ And yet you have come in kindness — in mercy, 


rather.” 

I have come because I am deeply interested in 
you.” 


FACING THE CONSEQUENCES. 


2S1 


“ I am not worthy — I am not fit for you to touch.” 

** I am glad you feel so.” 

Then why do you come ? 

** Because I wish to help you to become worthy.” 

“ That’s impossible. It’s too late.” 

“ Perhaps it is. That is a question for you alone 
to decide ; but I wish you to think well before you 
do decide it.” 

** Pardon me, Mrs. Arnot,” he said emphatically, 
raising his head, and dashing away bitter tears ; “ the 
world has decided that question for me, and all have 
said in one harsh, united voice, ‘You shall not rise.’ 
It has ground me under its heel as vindictively as if 
I were a viper. You are so unlike the world that 
you don’t know it. It has given me no chance what- 
ever.” 

“ Egbert, what have you to do with the world ? ” 

“ God knows I wanted to recover what I had lost,” 
he continued in the same rapid tone. “ God knows 
I left this cell weeks since with the honest purpose 
of working my way up to a position that would en- 
title me to your respect, and change my mother’s 
shame into pride. But I found a mad-dog cry raised 
against me. And this professedly Christian town 
has fairly hunted me back to this prison.” 

Mrs. Arnot sighed deeply, but after a moment 
said, “ I do not excuse the Christian town, neither 
can I excuse you.” 

‘‘You too, then, blame me, and side against me.” 

" No, Egbert, I side with you, and yet I blame 
you deeply; but I pity you more.” 

He rose, and paced the cell with his old, restless 


282 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTUKV. 

steps. It’s no use,” he said ; “ the world says, 
‘ Go to the devil,’ and gives me no chance to do 
otherwise.” 

“ Do you regard the world — whatever you 'may 
mean by the phrase — as your friend ? ” 

“ Friend ! ” he repeated, with bitter emphasis^ 

“ Why, then, do you take its advice ? I did not 
come here to tell you to go to perdition.” 

“ But if the world sets its face against me like a 
flint, what is there for me to do but to remain in 
prison or hide in a desert, unless I do what I had 
purposed, defy it and strike back, though it be only 
as a worm that tries to sting the foot that crushes it.” 

“ Egbert, if you should die, the world would for- 
get that you had ever existed, in a few days.” 

“ Certainly. It would give me merely a passing 
thought as of a nuisance that had been abated.” 

“ Well, then, would it not be wise to forget the 
world for a little while? You are shut away from it 
for the present, and it cannot molest you. In the 
meantime you can settle some very important per- 
sonal questions. The world has power over your 
fate only as you give it power. You need not lie 
like a helpless worm in its path, waiting to be ei uju- 
ed. Get up like a man, and take care of yourself. 
The world may let you starve, but it cannot prevent 
you from becoming good and true and manly ; if you 
do become so, however, rest assured the world will 
eventually find a place for you, and, perhaps, an 
honored place. But be that as it may, a good Chris- 
tian man is sustained by something far more sub- 
stantial than the world’s breath.” 


Facing the consequences. 


283 

Out of respect for Mrs. Arnot, Haldane was silent. 
Ke supposed that her proposed remedy for his des- 
perate troubles was that he should “ become a Cliris- 
tian,” and to this phrase he had learned to give only 
the most conventional meaning. 

** Becoming a Christian,” in his estimation, was the 
making of certain professions, going through pecu- 
liar and abnormal experiences, and joining a church, 
the object of all this being to escape a “wrath to 
come ” in the indefinite future. To begin with, he 
had not the slightest idea how to set in motion these 
spiritual evolutions, had he desired them ; and to 
his intense and practical nature the whole subject 
was as unattractive as a library of musty and scho- 
lastic books. He wanted some remedy that applied 
to this world, and would help him now. He did not 
associate Mrs. Arnot s action with Christian prin- 
ciple, but believed it to be due to the peculiar and 
natural kindness of her heart. Christians in general 
had not troubled themselves about him, and, as far 
as he could judge, had turned as coldly from him as 
had others. His mother had always been regarded 
as an eminently religious woman, and yet he knew 
that she was moibidly sensitive to the world’s opin- 
ion and society’s verdict. 

From childhood he had associated religion with nu- 
merous Sunday restraints and the immaculate mourn- 
ing-dress which seemed chiefly to occupy his mother’s 
thoughts during the hour preceding service. He had 
no conception of a faith that could be to him what the 
Master ’s strong sustaining hand was to the disciple 
who suddenly found himself sinking in a stormy sea. 


284 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

It is not strange that the distressed in body or 
mind turn away from a religion of dreary formalities 
and vague, uncomprehended mental processes. In- 
stant and practical help is what is craved ; and just 
such help Christ ever gave when he came to manifest 
God’s will and ways to men. By whose authority 
do some religious teachers now lead the suffering 
through such a round-about, intricate, or arid path 
of things to be done and doctrines to be accepted 
before bringing them to Christ ? 

But when a mind has become mystified with pre- 
conceived ideas and prejudices, it is no easy task to 
reveal to them the truth, however simple. Mrs. Ar 
not had come into the light but slowly herself, and 
she had passed through too many deep and prolonged 
spiritual experiences to hope for any immediate and 
radical change in Haldane. Indeed, she was in great 
doubt whether he would ever receive the faithful 
words she proposed speaking to him ; and she fully 
believed that any thing he attempted in his own 
strength would again end in disheartening failure. 

“ Egbert,” she said gently, but very gravely, “ have 
you fully settled it in your own mind that I am your 
friend and wish you well ? ” 

How can I believe otherwise, since you are here, 
and speaking to me as you do ?” 

“ Well, I am going to test your faith in me and my 
kindness. I am going to speak plainly, and perhaps 
you may think even harshly. You are very sick, and 
if I am to be your physician I must give you some 
sharp, decisive treatment. Will you remember through 
it all that my only motive is to make you well ? ” 


FACING THE CONSEQUENCES. 


285 


‘ I will try to.” 

You have kept away from me a long time. I er- 
haps when released from this place you will again 
avoid me, and I may never have another opportunity 
like the present. Now, while you have a chance to 
think, I am going to ask you to face the consequences 
of your present course. Within an hour after pass- 
ing out of this cell you will have it in your power 
to trample on your better nature and stupefy your 
mind. But now, if you will, you have a chance to 
use the powers God has given you, and settle finally 
on your plan of life.” 

“ I have already trampled on my manhood — what 
is worse, I have lost it. I haven’t any courage or 
strength left.” 

“That can scarcely be true of one but little more 
than twenty. You are to be here in quietness for 
the next ten days, I learn. It is my intention, so far 
as it is in my power to bring it about, that you 
deliberately face the consequences of your present 
course during, this time. By the consequences I do 
not mean what the world will think of you, but, rather, 
the personal results of your action — what you must 
suffer while you are in the world, and what you must 
suffer when far beyond the world. Egbert, are you 
pleased with yourself? are you satisfied with yourself? ’ 

“ I loathe myself.” 

“ You can get away from the world — you are away 
from it now, and soon you will be away from it finally 
— but you can never get away from yourself. Are 
you willing to face an eternal consciousness of defeat, 
failure, and personal baseness?” 


2 86 KNIGHT CF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

He shuddered, but was silent. 

There is no place in God’s pure heaven for the 
drunkard — the morally loathsome and deformed. 
Are you willing to be swept away among the chaff 
and the thorns, and to have, forever, the shameful 
and humiliating knowledge that vou rightfully belong 
to the rubbish of the universe? Are you willing to 
have a sleepless memory tell you in every torturing 
way possible what a noble, happy man you might 
have been, but would not be ? Your power to drown 
memory and conscience, and stupefy your mind, will 
last a little while only at best. How are you going 
to endure the time when you must remember every 
thing and think of every thing ? These are more 
important questions than what the world thinks of 
you.” 

“ Have you no pity? ” he groaned. 

“Yes, my heart overflows with pity. Is it not 
kindness to tell you whither your path is leading ? 
If I had the power I would lay hold of you, and force 
you to come with me into the path of life and safe- 
ty,” she answered, with a rush of tears to her eyes. 

Her sympathy touched him deeply, and disarmed 
her words of all power to awaken resentment. 

“ Mrs. Arnot,” he cried, passionately, “ I did mean 
— I did try — to do better when I left this place ; but, 
between my own accursed weakness and the hard- 
hearted world, I am here again, and almost without 
hope.” 

“ Egbe^rt, though I did not discourage you at the 
time, I had little hope of youjr accomplishing any 
thing when ycu* left this cell some weeks since. You 


FACING THE CONSEQl ENCES. 


287 


went out to regain your old position and the world’s 
favor, as one might look for a jewel or sum of money 
he had lost. You can never gain even these advan- 
tages in the way you proposed, and if you enjoy them 
again the cause will exist, not in what you do only, 
but chiefly in what you are. When you started out 
to win the favor of society, from which you had 
been alienated partly by misfortane, but largely 
through your own wrong action, there was no radical 
change in your character, or even in your controlling 
motives. You regretted the evil because of its im- 
mediate and disagreeable consequences. I do not 
excuse the world’s harshness toward the erring; but, 
after all, if you can disabuse your mind of preju- 
dice you will admit that its action is very natural, 
and would, probably, have been your own before you 
passed under this cloud. Consider what the world 
knows of you. It, after all, is quite shrewd in judg- 
ing whom it may trust and whom it is safe to keep 
at arm’s length. Knowing yourself and your own 
weaknesses as you do, could you honestly recommend 
yourself to the confidence of any one ? With your 
character unchanged, what guarantee have you 
against the first temptation or gust of passion to 
which you are subjected? You had no lack ol 
wounded pride and ambition when you started out, 
but you will surely admit that such feelings are of 
little value compared with Christian integrity and 
manly principle, which render any thing dishonor* 
able or base impossible. 

** I do not consider the world’s favor worth very 
much, but the world’s respect is, for it usually re- 


288 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

spects only what is respectable. As you form a char- 
acter that you can honestly respect yourself, you 
will find society gradually learning to share in that 
esteem. Believe me, Egbert, if you ever regain the 
world’s lost favor, which you value so highly, you 
will discover the first earnest of it in your own 
changed and purified character. The world will pay 
no heed to any amount of self-assertion, and will re- 
main equally indifferent to appeals and upbraidings; 
but sooner or later it will find out just what you are 
in your essential life, and will estimate you accord- 
ingly. I have dwelt on this phase of your misfortune 
fully, because I see that it weighs so heavily on your 
heart. Can you accept my judgment in the matter? 
Remember, I have lived nearly three times as long as 
you have, and speak from ripe experience. I have 
always been a close observer of society, and am quite 
sure I am right. If you were my own son I would 
use the same words.” 

“ Mrs. Arnot,” he replied slowly, with contracted 
brow, “you are giving me much to think about. I 
fear I have been as stupid as I have been bad. My 
whole life seems one wretched blunder.” 

“ Ah, if you will only thinks I shall have strong 
hopes of you. But in measuring these questions do 
not use the inch rule of time and earth only. As I 
have said before, remember you will soon have done 
with earth forever, but never can you get away from 
God, nor be rid of yourself. You are on wretched 
terms with both, and will be, whatever happens, un- 
til your nature is brought into harmony with God’s 
will We are so made, so designed in our every 


FACING THE CONSEQUENCES. 289 

fiber, that evil tortures us like a diseased nerve ; and 
it always will till we get rid of it. Therefore, Eg- 
bert, remember — G that I could burn it into your 
consciousness — the best you can gain from your 
proposed evil course is a brief respite in base and 
sensual stupefaction, or equally artificial and unman- 
ly excitement, and then endless waking, bitter mem- 
ories, and torturing regret. Face this truth now, 
before it is too late. Good-by for a time. I will 
come again when I can ; or you can send for me 
when you please ; ” and she gave him her hand in 
cordial pressure. 

He did not say a word, but his face was very 
white, and it was evident that her faithful words had 
opened a prospect that had simply appalled him. 


13 


290 


KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENT HEY, 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

HOW EVIL ISOLATES. 

I F Haldane had been left alone on an ice-floe in the 
Arctic Ocean he could scarcely have felt worse 
than he did during the remainder of the day after 
Mrs. Arnot’s departure. A dreary and increasing 
sense of isolation oppressed him. The words of his 
visitor, “ What have you to do with the world ? ” 
and “ If you were dead it would forget you in a few 
days,” repeated themselves over and over again. 
His vindictive feeling against society died out in 
the consciousness of his weakness and insignificance. 
What is the use of one’s smiting a mountain with 
his fist ? Only the puny hand feels the blow. The 
world became, under Mrs. Arnot’s words, too large 
and vagiie a generality even to be hated. 

In order to be a misanthrope one must also be an 
egotist, dwarfing the objects of his spite, and ex- 
aggerating the small atom that has arrayed itself 
against the universe. It is a species of insanity, 
wherein a mind has lost perception of the correct 
relationship between different existences. The poor 
hypochondriac who imagined himself a mountain 
was a living satire on many of his fellow-creatures, 
who differ only in being able tQ keep similar delu* 
sions to themselves, 



no IV EVIL ISOLATES. 


291 


Mrs. Arnot’s plain, honest, yet kindly *vords had 
thrown down the walls of prejudice, and Haldane s 
mind lay open to the truth. As has been said, his 
first impression was a strange and miserable sense 
of loneliness. He saw what a slender hold he had 
upon the rest of humanity. The majority knew no- 
thing of him, while, with few exceptions, those who 
were aware of his existence despised and detested 
him, and would breathe more freely if assured of his 
death. He instinctively felt that the natural affec- 
tions of his mother and sisters were borne down and 
almost overwhelmed by his course and character. 
If they had any visitors in the seclusion to which 
his disgrace had driven them, his name would be 
avoided with morbid sensitiveness, and yet all would 
be as painfully conscious of him as if he were a 
corpse in the room, which by some monstrous ne- 
cessity could not be buried. While they might shed 
natural tears, he was not sure but that deep in their 
hearts would come a sense of relief should they hear 
that he was dead, and so could not deepen the stain 
he had already given to a name once so respectable. 
He knew that his indifference and overbearing man- 
ner toward his sisters had alienated them from him ; 
while in respect to Mrs. Haldane, her aristocratic con- 
ventionality, the most decided trait of her character, 
would always be in sharp contest with her strong 
mother-love, and thus he would ever be only a 
source of disquiet and wretchedness whether pres- 
ent or absent. In view of the discordant elements 
and relations now existing, there was not a place on 
earth less attracti'''^ than his own home. 


292 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

It may at first seem a contradiction to say that 
the thought of Mrs. Arnot gave him a drearier sense 
of isolation than the memory of all else. In her 
goodness she seemed to belong to a totally different 
world from himself and people in general. He had 
nothing in common with her. She seemed to come 
to him almost literally as an angel of mercy, and 
from an infinite distance, and her visits must, of 
necessity, be like those of the angels, few and far 
between, and, in view of his character, must soon 
cease. He shrank from her purity and nobility even 
while drawn toward her by her sympathy. He in- 
stinctively felt that in all her deep commiseration 
of him she could not for a moment tolerate the de- 
basing evil of his nature, and that this evil, retained, 
would speedily and inevitably separate them for- 
ever. Could he be rid of it? He did not know. 
He could not then see how. In his weakness and 
despondency it seemed inwrought with every fiber 
of his being, and an essential part of himself. As 
for Laura, she was like a bright star that had set, 
and was no longer above his dim horizon. 

As he felt himself thus losing his hold on the 
companionship and remembrance of others, he was 
thrown back upon himself, and this led him to feel 
with a sort of dreary foreboding that it would be a 
horrible thing thus to be chained forever to a self 
toward which the higher faculties pf his soul must 
ever cherish only hatred and loathing. Even now 
he hated himself— nay, more, he was enraged with 
himself — in view of the folly of which he had been 
capable. What could be worse than the endless 


HOW EVIL ISOLATES. 


m 


companionship of the base nature which had already 
dragged him down so low ? 

As the hours passed, the weight upon his heart 
grew heavier, and the chill of dread more unendur- 
able. He saw his character as another might see it 
He saw a nature to which, from infancy, a wrong 
bias had been given, made selfish by indulgence, 
imperious and strong only in carrying out impulses 
and in gratifying base passions, but weak as water 
in resisting evil and thwarting its vile inclinations. 
The pride and hope that had sustained him in what 
he regarded as the great effort of his life were gone, 
and he felt neither strength nor courage to attempt 
any thing further. He saw himself helpless and 
prostrate before his fate, and yet that fate was 
so terrible that he shrank from it with increasing 
dread. 

What could he do ? Was it possible to do any 
thing? Had he not lost his footing? If a man 
is caught in the rapids, up to a certain point his 
struggle against the tide is full of hope, but be- 
yond that point no effort can avail. Had he not 
been swept so far down toward the final plunge that 
grim despair were better than frantic but vain effort ? 

And yet he felt that he could not give himself up 
to the absolute mastery of evil without one more 
struggle. Was there any chance? Was he capable 
of making the needful effort ? 

Thus hopes and fears, bitter memories and pas- 
sionate regrets, swept to and fro through his soul 
like stormy gusts. A painful experience and Mrs. 
Arnot’s words were teaching the giddy, thoughtless 


294 OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


young fellow what life meant, and were forcing upon 
his attention the inevitable questions connected with 
it which must be solved sooner or later, and which 
usually grow more difficult as the consideration of 
them is delayed, and they become complicated. As 
his cell grew dusky with its early twilight, as he 
thought of another long night whose darkness would 
be light compared wifli the shadow brobding on 
his prospects, his courage and endurance gave way. 

With something of the feeling of a terror-stricken 
child he called the under-sheriff, and asked for writ- 
ing materials. With a pencil he wrote hastily : 

“ Mrs. Arnot : — I entreat you to visit me once more to-day. Your 
words have left me in torture. I cannot face the consequences, 
and yet see no way of escape. It would be very cruel to leave me to 
my despairing thoughts for another night, and you are not cruel.” 

In dispatching the missive he said, “ I can pro- 
mise that if this note is delivered to Mrs. Arnot at 
once, the bearer shall be well paid.” 

Moments seemed hours while he waited for an 
answer. Suppose the letter was not delivered — sup- 
pose Mrs. Arnot was absent. A hundred miserable 
conjectures flitted through his mind ; but his confi- 
dence in his friend was such that even his morbid 
fear did not suggest that she would not come. 

The lady was at the dinner-table when the note 
was handed to her, and after reading it she rose 
hastily and excused herself. 

** Where are you going ? ” asked her husband 
sharply. 

** A person in trouble has sent for me.” 

“ Well, unless the person is in the midst of a sur* 


I/OIV EVIL ISOLATES. 


295 

gical operation, he, she, or it, whichever this person 
may be, can wait till you finish your dinner/’ 

** I am going to visit Egbert Haldane,” said Mrs. 
Arnot quietly. “Jane, please tell Michael to come 
round with the carriage immediately.” 

“You visit the city prison at this hour I Now I 
protest. The young rake probably has the delirium 
tremens Send our physician rather, if some one 
must go, though leaving him to the jailer and a 
strait-jacket would be better still.” 

“ Please excuse me,” answered his wife, with her 
hand on the door-knob; “you forget my relations 
to Mrs. Haldane ; her son has sent for me.” 

“ ‘ Her relations to Mrs. Haldane ! ’ As if she 
were not always at the beck and call of every beggar 
and criminal in town ! I do wish I had a wife who 
was too much of a lady to have any thing to do with 
this low scum.” 

A few moments later Mr. Arnot broke out anew 
with muttered complaint and invective, as he heard 
the carriage driven rapidly away. 

As by the flickering light of a dip candle Mrs. 
Arnot saw Haldane’s pale, haggard face, she did not 
regret that she had come at once, for a glance gave 
to her the evidence of a human soul in its extremity 

In facing these deep questions of life, some regard 
themselves as brave or philosophical. Perhaps it 
were nearer the truth to say they are stolid, and arc 
staring at that which they do not understand and 
cannot yet realize. Where in history do we read-— 
who from a ripe experience can give — an instance of 
a happy life developing under the deepening shadow 


2g6 K NIG hr OF THE NINETEENTH CENT'URY, 

of evil? Suppose one has seen high types of char- 
acter and happiness, and was capable of appreciat 
ing them, but finds that he has cherished a sottish, 
beastly nature so long that it has become his master, 
promising to hold him in thralldom ever afterward ; 
— can there be a more wretched form of captivity ? 
The ogre of a debased nature drags the soul away 
from light and happiness — from all who are good and 
pure — to the hideous solitude of self and memory. 

There are those who will be incredulous and even 
resentful in view of this picture, but it will not be the 
first time that facts have been quarreled with. It is 
true that many are writhing and groaning in this 
cruel bondage, mastered and held captive by some 
debasing appetite or passion, perhaps by manyc 
Sometimes, with a bitter, desparing sorrow, of which 
superficial observers of life can have no idea, they 
speak of these horrid chains ; sometimes they tug at 
them almost frantically. A few escape, but more 
are dragged down and away — away from honorable 
companionships and friendships ; away from places 
of trust, from walks of usefulness and safety ; away 
from parents, from wife and children, until the awful 
isolation is complete, and the guilty soul finds itself 
alone with the sin that mastered it, conscious that 
God only will ever see and remember. Human 
friends will forget — they must forget in order to ob- 
tain relief from an object that has become morally 
too unsightly to be looked upon ; and in mercy they 
are so created that they can forget, though it may 
be long before it is possible. 

There are people who scout this awful mystery 


IfOPV EVIL ISOLaFEh. 


297 


of evil. They have beautiful little theories of their 
own, which they have spun in the seclusion of their 
studies. They keep carefully within their shady, 
flower-bordered walks, and ignore the existence of 
the world’s dusty highways, in which so many are 
fainting and being trampled upon. What they do 
not see does not exist. What they do not believe 
is not true. They cannot condemn too severely the 
lack of artistic taste and liberal culture which leads 
any one to regard sin as other than a theologian’s 
phrase or a piquant element in human life, which 
otherwise would be rather dull and flavorless. 

Mrs. Arnot was not a theorist, nor was she the 
elegant lady, wholly given to the esthetic culture 
that her husband desired ; she was a large-hearted 
woman, and she understood human life and its 
emergencies sufficiently well to tremble with appre- 
hension when she saw the face of Egbert Haldane, 
for she felt that a deathless soul in its crisis — its 
deepest spiritual need — was looking to her solely 
for help. 

13* 


2^8 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


CHAPTER XXX. 

IDEAL KNIGHTHOOD. 

M rs. ARNOT again came directly to the youth, 
and put her hand on his shoulder with mother- 
ly freedom and kindliness. Beyond even the word 
of sympathy is the touch of sympathy, and it often 
conveys to the fainting heart a subtle power to hope 
and trust again which the materialist cannot explain. 
The Divine Physician often touched those whom he 
healed. He laid his hand fearlessly on the leper 
from whom all shrank with inexpressible dread 
The moral leper who trembled under Mrs. Arnot’s 
hand felt that he was not utterly lost and beyond 
the pale of hope, if one so good and pure could still 
touch him ; and there came a hope, like a ray strug- 
gling through thick darkness, that the hand that ca- 
ressed might rescue him. 

“ Egbert,” said the lady gravely, tell me what I 
can do for you.” 

I cannot face the consequences,” he replied in a 
low, shuddering tone. 

And do you only dread the consequences ? ” Mrs. 
Arnot asked sadly. “ Do you not think of the evil 
which is the cause of your trouble?” 

** I can scarcely separate the sin from the suffer- 


IDEAL KNIGHTHOOD 


299 


ing. My mind is confused, and I am overwhelmed 
with fear and loneliness. All who are good and all 
that is good seemed to be slipping from me, and I 
should soon be left only to my miserable self. O, 
Mrs. Arnot, no doubt I seem to you like a weak, 
guilty coward. I seem so to myself. If it were 
danger or difficulty I had to face I would not fear ; 
but this slow, inevitable, increasing pressure of a 
horrible fate, this seeing clearly that evil cuts me off 
from hope and all happiness, and yet to feel that I 
cannot escape from it — that I am too weak to break 
my chains — it is more than I can endure. I fear 
that I should have gone mad if you had not come. 
Do you think there is any chance for me ? I feel as 
if I had lost my manhood.” 

Mrs. Arnot took the chair which the sheriff had 
brought on her entrance, and said quietly, “ Perhaps 
you have, Egbert ; many a man has lost what you 
mean by that term.” 

** You speak of it with a composure that I can 
scarcely understand,” said Haldane, with a quick 
glance of inquiry. It seems to me an irreparable 
loss.” 

“ It does not seem so great a loss to me,” replied 
Mrs. Arnot gently. “As your physician you must 
let me speak plainly again. It seems to me that 
what you term your manhood was composed largely 
of pride, conceit, ignorance of yourself, and inexpe- 
rience of the world. You were liable to lose it at 
any time, just as you did, partly through your own 
folly and partly through the wrong of others. You 
know, Egbert, that I have always been interested 


300 KNIGBT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

in young men, and what many of them regard as 
their manhood is not of much value to themselves 
or any one else/’ 

“ Is it nothing to be so weak, disheartened, and 
debased that you lie prostrate in the mire of your 
own evil nature, as it were, and with no power to 
rise ? ” he asked bitterly. 

That is sad indeed.” 

“ Well, that’s just my condition — or I fear it is, 
though your coming has brought a gleam of hope. 
Mrs. Arnot,” he continued passionately, “I don’t 
know how to be different ; I don’t feel capable of 
making any persistent and successful effort. I feel 
that I have lost all moral force and courage. The 
odds are too great. I can’t get up again.” 

“Perhaps you cannot, Egbert,” said Mrs. Arnot 
very gravely ; “ it would seem that some never do — ” 

He buried his face in his hands and groaned. 

“You have, indeed, a difficult problem to solve, 
and, looking at it from your point of view, I do not 
wonder that it seems impossible.” 

“ Cannot you, then, give me any hope ? ” 

“No, Egbert; /cannot. It is not in my power 
to make you a good man. You know that I would 
do so if I could.” 

“ Would to God I had never lived, then he ex- 
claimed, desperately. 

“ Can you offer God no better prayer than that ? 
Will you try to be calm, and listen patiently to me 
for a few moments ? When I said / could not give 
you hope — I could not make you a good man — I 
expressed one of my strongest convictions. But I 


IDEAL KNIGHTHOOD. 


301 


have not said, Egbert, that there is no hope, no 
chance, for you. On the contrary, there is abund 
ant hope — yes, absolute certainty — of your achiev- 
ing a noble character, if you will set about it in the 
right way. But as one of the first and indispensa- 
ble conditions of success, I wish you to realize that 
the task is too great for you alone ; too great with 
my help ; too great if the world that seems so hos- 
tile should unite to help you ; and yet neither I nor 
all the world could prevent your success if you went 
to the right and true source of help. Why have 
you forgotten God in your emergency ? Why are 
you looking solely to yourself and to another weak 
fellow-creature like yourself? ” 

“You are in no respect like me, Mrs. Arnot, and 
it seems profanation even to suggest the thought.” 

“ I have the same nature. I struggled vainly and 
almost hopelessly against my peculiar weaknesses 
and temptations and sorrows until I heard God say- 
ing, ‘ Come, my child, let us work together. It is 
my will you should do all you can yourself, and 
what you cannot do I will do for you.’ Since that 
time I have often had to struggle hard, but never 
vainly. There have been seasons when my burdens 
grew so heavy that I was ready to faint ; but after 
appealing to my heavenly Father, as a little child 
might cry for help, the crushing weight would pass 
giway, and I became able to go on my way relieved 
and hopeful.” 

“ I cannot understand it,” said the young man, 
looking at her in deep perplexity. 

“ That does not prevent its being true. The most 


302 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

skillful physician cannot explain why certain bene- 
ficial effects follow the use of certain remedies ; but 
when these effects become an established fact of 
experience it were sensible to employ the remedy a, 
soon as possible. One might suffer a great deal, 
and, perhaps, perish, while asking questions and 
waiting for answers. To my mind the explanation 
is very simple. God is our Creator, and calls him- 
self our Father. It would be natural on general 
principles that he should take a deep interest in us ; 
but he assures us of the profoundest love, employ- 
ing our tenderest earthly ties to explain how he 
feels toward us. What is more natural than for a 
father to help a child? What is more certain, also, 
than that a wise father would teach a child to do all 
within his ability to help himself, and so develop 
the powers with which he is endowed ? , Only in- 
fants are supposed to be perfectly helpless." 

“ It would seem that what you say ought to be 
true, and yet I have always half-feared God — that 
is, when I thought about him at all. I have been 
taught that he was to be served ; that he was a jeal- 
ous God ; .that he was angry with the sinful, and 
that the prayers of the wicked were an abomination. 
I am sure the Bible says the latter is true, or some- 
thing like it." 

It is true. If you set your heart on some evil 
course, or are deliberating some dishonesty or mean- 
ness, be careful how you make long or short prayers 
to God while willfully persisting in your sin. When 
a man is robbing and cheating, thougli in the most 
legal manner — when he is gratifying lust, hate, or 


IDEAL KNIGHTHOOD. 


303 


appetite, and intends to continue doing so — the less 
praying he does the better. An avowed infidel 
is more acceptable. But the sweetest music that 
reaches heaven is the honest cry for help to forsake 
sin ; and the more sinful the heart that thus cries 
out for deliverance the more welcome the appeal. 
Let me illustrate what I mean by your own case 
If you should go out from this prison in the same 
spirit that you did once before, seeking to gain posi- 
tion and favor only for the purpose of gratifying 
your own pride, — only that self might be advantaged, 
without any generous and disinterested regard for 
others, without any recognition of the sacred duties 
you owe to God, and content with a selfish, narrow, 
impure soul, — if, with such a disposition, you should 
commence asking for God’s help as a means to these 
petty, miserable ends, your prayers would, and with 
good reason, be an abomination to him. But if you 
had sunk to far lower depths than those in which 
you now find yourself, and should cry out for purity, 
for the sonship of a regenerated character, your 
voice would not only reach your divine Father’s ear, 
but his heart, which would yearn toward you with 
a tender commiseration that I could not feel were 
you my only son.” 

The sincerity and earnestness of Mrs. Arnot’s 
words were attested by her fast-gathering tears. 

“ This is all new to me. But if God is so kindly 
disposed toward us, — so ready to help, — why does 
he not reveal himself in this light more clearly? why 
are we so slow and long in finding him out? Until 
you came he seemed against me.” 


304 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

“We will not discuss this matter in general. Take 
your own experience again. Perhaps it has been 
your fault, not God’s, that you misunderstood him. 
He tries to show how he feels toward us in many 
ways, chiefly by his written Word, by what he leads 
his people to do for us, and by his great mind acting 
directly on ours. Has not the Bible been within 
your reach ? Have none of God’s servants tried to 
advise and help you ? I think you must have s:cn 
some such effort on my part when you were an in- 
mate of my home. I am here this evening as God’s 
messenger to you. All the hope I have of you is 
inspired by his disposition and power to help you. 
You may continue to stand aloof from him, declin- 
ing his aid, just as you avoided your motive, and 
myself all these weeks when we were longing to help 
you ; but if you sink, yours will be the fate of one 
who refuses to grasp the strong hand that is and 
ever has been seeking yours.’’ 

“ Mrs. Arnot,’’ said Haldane thoughtfully, “ if all 
you say is true there is hope for me — there is hope 
for every one. ’’ 

Mrs. Arnot was silent for a moment, and then said, 
with seeming abruptness, 

“You have read of the ancient knights and their 
deeds, have you not ?’’ 

“ Yes,’’ was the wondering reply, “ but the sub- 
ject seems very remote.’’ 

“You are in a position to realize my very idea/ 
of knightly endeavor.’’ 

“I, Mrs. Arnot ! What can you mean ?’’ 

^ Whether I am right or wrong I soon ex- 


IDEAL KNIGHTHOOD, 


305 


plain what I mean. The ancient knight set his 
lance in rest against what seemed to him the wrongs 
and evils of the world. In theory he was to be with 
out fear and without reproach — as pure as the white 
cross upon his mantle. But in fact the average 
knight was very human. His white cross was soon 
soiled by foreign travel, but too often not before his 
soul was stained with questionable deeds. It was 
a life of adventure and excitement, and abundantly 
gratifying to pride and ambition. While it could be 
idealized into a noble calling, it too often ended in 
a lawless, capricious career of self-indulgence. The 
cross on the mantle symbolized the heavy blows and 
sorrows inflicted on those who had the misfortune to 
differ in opinion, faith, or race with the knight, the 
steel of whose armor seemingly got into his heart, 
rather than any personal self-denial. Without any 
moral change on his own part, or being anyway bet- 
ter than they, he could fight the infidel or those whose 
views differed from his with great zest. 

“ But the man who will engage successfully in a 
crusade against the evil of his own heart must have 
the spirit of a true knight, for he attempts the most 
difficult and heroic task within the limits of human 
endeavor. It is comparatively easy to run a tilt 
against a fellow-mortal, or an external evil ; but to 
set our lance in rest against a cherished sin, a 
habit that has become our second nature, and re- 
morselessly ride it down, — to grapple with a secret 
fault in the solitude of our own soul, with no ap- 
plauding hands to spur us on, and fight and wrestle 
for weary months, — years perhaps, — this does require 


3o6 knight of the nineteenth century 

heroism of the highest order, and the man who can 
do it is my ideal knight. 

** You inveigh against ‘the world, Egbert, as if it 
were a harsh and remorseless foe, bent on crushing 
you; but you have far more dangerous enemies 
lurking in your own heart. If you could thoroughly 
subdue these with God’s aid, you would at the same 
time overcome the world, or find yourself so inde- 
pendent of it as scarcely to care whether- or no it 
gave you its favor. When you left this prison be- 
fore, you sought in the wrong way to win the position 
you had lost. You were very proud of your former 
standing ; but you had very little occasion to be, for 
you had inherited it. The deeds of others, not your 
own, had won it for you. If you had realized it, it 
gave you a great vantage, but that was all. If you 
had been content to have remained a conceited, com- 
monplace man, versed only in the fashionable jargon 
and follies of the hour, and basing your claims on 
the wealth which you had shown neither the ability 
nor industry to win, you would never have had my 
respect. 

Well, to tell the truth, such shadows of men are 
respected by no one, not even thernselves, even 
though they may commit no deed which society con- 
demns. But if in this prison cell you set your face 
like a flint against the weaknesses and grave faults of 
your nature which have brought you here, and which 
would have made you any thing but an admirable 
nian had you retained your old position, — if, with 
God as your fast ally, you wage unrelenting and 
successful war against all that is unworthy of a 


IDEAL KNIGHTHOOD. 


307 

Christian manhood, — I will not only respect, I will 
honor you. You will be one of my ideal knights,” 
As Mrs. Arnot spoke, Haldane’s eyes kindled, and 
his drooping manner was exchanged for an aspect 
that indicated reviving hope and courage. 

I have lost faith in myself,” he said slowly ; 
** and as yet I have no faith in God ; but after what 
you have said I do not fear him as I did. I have 
faith in you, however, Mrs. Arnot, and I would rather 
gain your respect than that of all the world. You 
know me now better than any one else. Do you 
truly believe that I could succeed in such a struggle ? ” 
“Without faith in God you cannot. Even the 
ancient knight, whose success depended so much on 
the skill and strength of his arm, and the temper of 
his weapons and armor, was supposed to spend hours 
in prayer before attempting any great thing. But 
with God’s help daily sought and obtained, you can- 
not fail. You can achieve that which the world 
cannot take from you, — which will be a priceless 
possession after the world has forgotten you and 
you it, — a noble character.” 

Haldane was silent several moments, then, draw- 
ing a long breath, he said, slowly and humbly, 

“ How I am to do this I do not yet understand ; 
but if yon will guide me, I will attempt it.” 

“This book will guide you, Egbert,” said Mrs. 
Arnot, placing her Bible in his hands. “ God him- 
self will guide you if you ask sincerely. Good 
night.” And she gave him such a warm and friendly 
grasp of the hand as to prove that evil had not yet 
wholly isolated him from the pure and good. 


3o8 knight of the nineteenth century. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE LOW STARTING-POINTc 
N the afternoon of the following day Mrs. Ar- 



not again visited Haldane, bringing him sev- 
eral letters from his mother which had been sent in 
her care ; and she urged that the son should write 
at once in a way that would reassure the mother’s 


heart. 


In his better mood the young man’s thoughts re- 
curred to his mother with a remorseful tenderness, 
and he eagerly sought out the envelope bearing the 
latest date, and tore it open. As he read, the pallor 
and pain expressed in his face became so great that 
Mrs. Arnot was much troubled, fearing that the let- 
ter contained evil tidings. 

Without a word he handed it to her, and also two 
inclosed paragraphs cut from newspapers. 

“ Do you think your mother would wish me to 
see it ? ” asked Mrs. Arnot, hesitatingly. 

I wish you to see it, and it contains no injunc- 
tions of secrecy. Indeed, she has been taking sonxe 
very open and decided steps which are here indi- 
cated.” 

Mrs. Arnot read: 

My Unnatural Son : — Though you will not write me a line, 
you stir make it certain that I shall hear from you, as the inclosed 


THE LOW STARTING-POINT 


309 


clippings from Hillaton papers may prove to you. You have for- 
feited all claim on both your sisters and myself. Our lawyer has 
been here to-day, and has sliown me, what is only too evident, that 
money would be a curse to you — that you would squander it and dis- 
grace yourself still more, if such a thing w ere possible. As the prop- 
erty is wholly in my hands, I shall arrange it in such a way that you 
shall never have a chance to waste it. If you will comply with the 
following conditions I will supply all that is essential to one of your 
nature and tastes. I stipulate that you leave Hillaton, and go to 
some quiet place where our name is not known, and that you there 
live so quietly that I shall hear of no more disgraceful acts like those 
herein described. I have given up the hope of hearing any thing 
good. If you will do this I will pay your board and grant you a 
reasonable allowance. If you will not do this, you end all commu- 
nication between us, and we must be as strangers until you can show 
an entirely different spirit. 

Yours in bitter shame and sorrow, 

Emily Haldane. 

The clippings were Mr. Shrumpfs version of his 
own swindle, and a tolerably correct account of the 
events which led to the present irnprisonment. 

“ Will you accept your mother’s offer? ” Mrs. Ar- 
not asked, anxiously, for she was much troubled as 
to what might be the effect of the unfortunate letter 
at this juncture. 

“ No ! ” he replied with sharp emphasis. 

“ Egbert, remember you have given your mother 
the gravest provocation.” 

“ I also remember that she did her best to make 
me the fool I have been, and she might have a little 
more patience now. The truth is that mother’s God 
was respectability, and she will never forgive me foi 
destroying her idol.” 

Read the other letters; there may be that in 
them which will be more reassuring.” 


310 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

* No, I thank you,” he replied, bitterly; I have 
had all that I can stand for one day. She believes 
the infernal lie which that scoundrel Shrumpf tells, 
and gives me no hearing; ” and he related to Mrs. 
Arnot the true version of the affair. 

She had the tact to see that his present perturbed 
condition was not her opportunity, and she soon after 
left him in a mood that promised little of good for 
the future. 

But in the long, quiet hours that followed her de- 
parture his thoughts were busy. However much he 
might think that others were the cause of his unhap- 
py plight, he had seen that he was far more to blame. 
It had been made still more clear that, even if he 
could shift this blame somewhat, he could not the 
consequences. Mrs. Arnot’s words had given him 
a glimpse of light, and had revealed a path, which, 
though still vague and uncertain, promised to lead 
out of the present labyrinth of evil. During the 
morning hours he had dared to hope, and even to 
pray, that he might find a way of escape from his 
miserable self and the wretched condition to which 
it had brought him. 

For a long time he turned the leaves of Mrs. Ar- 
not's Bible, and here and there a text would flash 
out like a light upon the clouded future, but as a 
general thing the words had little meaning. 

To his ardent and somewhat imaginative nature 
she had presented the struggle toward a better life 
in the most attractive light. He was not asked to 
do something which was vague and mystical ; he 
was not exhorted to emotions and beliefs of which 


THE LOW STARTING-POINT. 


31 


he was then incapable, nor to forms and ceremonies 
that were meaningless to him, nor to professions 
equally hollow. On the contrary, the evils, the de- 
fects of his own nature, were given an objective fonn, 
and he could almost see himself, like a knight, with 
lance in rest, preparing to run a tilt against the per- 
sonal faults which had done him such injury. The 
deeper philosophy, that his heart was the rank soil 
from which sprang these faults, like Cadmus’ armed 
men, would come with fuller experience. 

But in a measure he had understood and had been 
inspired by Mrs. Arnot’s thought. Although from a 
weak mother’s indulgence and his own, from wasted 
years and bad companionships, his life was well-nigh 
spoiled, he still had sufficient mind to see that to 
fight down the clamorous passions of his heart into 
subjection would be a grand and heroic thing. If 
from the yielding mire of his present self a noble and 
granite-like character could be built up, so strongly 
and on such a sure foundation that it would stand 
the shocks of time and eternity, it were worth every 
effort of which human nature is capable. Until 
Mrs. Arnot had spoken her wise and kind, yet hon- 
est words, he had felt himself unable to stand erect, 
much less to enter on a struggle which would tax the 
strongest. 

But suppose God would deign to help, suppose it 
was the divine purpose and practice to supplement the 
feeble efforts of those who, like himself, spught to ally 
their weakness to his strength, might not the Creator 
and the creature, the Father and the child, unitedly 
achieve what it were hopeless to attempt unaided ? 


312 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

Thoughts like these n.'ore or less distinctly had 
been thronging his mind during the morning, and 
though the path out of his degradation was obscure 
and uncertain, it had seemed the only way of escape. 
He knew that Mrs. Arnot would not consciously 
mock him with delusive hopes, and as she spoke her 
words seemed to have the ring and echo of truth 
When the courage to attempt better things was, 
reviving, it was sad that he should receive the first 
disheartening blow from his mother. Not that she 
purposed any such cruel stroke ; but when one com- 
mences wrong in life one is apt to go on making mis- 
chief to the end. Poor Mrs. Haldane’s kindness and 
severity had always been ill-timed. 

For some hours, as will be seen, the contents of 
the mother’s letter inspired only resentment and 
caused discouragement ; but calmer thoughts ex- 
plained the letter, and confirmed Mrs. Arnot’s words, 
that he had given the greatest provocation.” 

At the same time the young man instinctively felt 
that if he attempted the knightly effort that Mrs. 
Arnot had so earnestly urged, his mother could not 
help him much, and might be a hindrance. Her 
views would be so conventional, and she would be 
so impatient of anv methods that were not in ac- 
cordance with her ideas of respectability, that she 
might imperil ever)'' thing should he yield to her 
guidance. If, therefore, he could obtain the means 
of subsistence he resolved to remain in Hillaton, 
where he could occasionally see Mrs. Arnot. She 
had been able to inspire the hope of a better life, and 
she could best teach him how such a life was possible 


THE LOW STARTING-POINT. 


313 


The next day circumstances prevented Mrs. Ar- 
not from visiting the prison, and Haldane employed 
part of the time in writing to his mother a letter of 
mingled reproaches and apologies, interspersed with 
vague hopes and promises of future amendment, end- 
ing, however, with the positive assurance that he 
would not leave Hillaton unless compelled to do so 
by hunger. 

To Mrs. Haldane this letter was only an aggrava- 
tion of former misconduct, and a proof of the un- 
natural and impracticable character of her son. The 
fact that it was written from a prison was hideous, to 
begin with. That, after all the pains at which she 
had been to teach him what was right, he could sug 
gest that she was in part to blame for his course, 
seemed such black ingratitude that his apologies and 
acknowledgments of wrong went for nothing. She 
quite overlooked the hope, expressed here and there, 
that he might lead a very different life in the future. 
His large and self-confident assurances made before 
had come to naught, and she had not the tact to 
see that he would make this attempt in a different 
spirit. 

It was not by any means a knightly, or even a 
manly letter that he wrote to his mother; it was as 
confused as his own chaotic moral nature; but if 
Mrs. Haldane had had a little more of Mrs. Arnot’s 
Intuition, and less of prejudice, she might have seen 
scattered through it very hopeful indications. But 
even were such indications much more plain, her 
anger, caused by his refusal to leave Hillaton, and the 
belief that he would continue to disgrace himself and 


314 


KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


her, would have blinded her to them. Under the in- 
fluence of this anger she sat down and wrote at once; 

Since you cast off your mother for strangers — since you attempt 
again what you have proved yourself incapable of accomplishing — 
since you prefer to go out of jail to be a vagrant and a criminal in 
the streets, instead of accepting my offer to live a respectable and se- 
cluded life where your shame is unknown, I wash my hands of you, 
and shall take pains to let it be understood that I am no longer re- 
sponsible for you or your actions. You must look to strangers solely 
until you can conform your course to the will of the one you have so 
greatly wronged. 

Haldane received this letter on the morning of 
the day which would again give him freedom. Mrs. 
Arnot had visited him from time to time, and had 
been pleased to find him, as a general thing, in a 
better and more promising mood. He had been 
eager to listen to all that she had to say, and he 
seemed honestly bent on reform. And yet, while 
hopeful, she was not at all sanguine as to his future. 
He occasionally gave way to fits of deep despon- 
dency, and again was over-confident, while the causes 
of these changes were not very apparent, and seem- 
ingly resulted more from temperament than any 
thing else. She feared that the bad habits of long 
standing, combining with his capricious and impulsive 
nature, would speedily betray him into his old ways. 
She was sure this would be the case unless the strong 
and steady hand of God sustained him, and she had 
tried to make him realize the same truth. This he 
did in a measure, and was exceedingly distrustful ; 
and yet he had not been able to do much more than 
hope God would help him — for to any thing like 
trustful coi fidence he was still a stranger. 


THE LOW STARTmC-POTNT, 


3*5 


The future was very <iark and uncertain. What he 
was to do, how he was to live, he could not foresee. 
Even the prison seemed almost a refuge from the 
world, out into which he would be thrown that day, 
as one might be cast from a ship, to sink or swim, as 
the case might be. 

While eager to receive counsel and advice from 
Mrs. Arnot, he felt a peculiar reluctance to take any 
pecuniary assistance, and he fairly dreaded to have 
her offer it ; still, it might be all that would stand 
between him and hunger. 

After receiving his mother’s harsh reply to his 
letter, his despondency was too great even for anger. 
He was ashamed of his weakness and discourage 
ment, and felt that they were unmanly, and yet 
was powerless to resist the leaden depression that 
weighed him down. 

Mrs. Arnot had promised to call just before his 
release, and when she entered his cell she at once 
saw that something was amiss. In reply to her 
questioning he gave her the letter just received. 

After reading it Mrs. Arnot did not speak for 
some time, and her face wore a sad, pained look. 

At last she said, “ You both misunderstand each 
other ; but, Egbert, you have no right to cherish re- 
sentment. Your mother sincerely believes your 
course is all wrong, and that it will end worse than 
before. I think she is mistaken. And yet perhaps 
she is right, and it will be easier for you to com- 
mence your better and reformed life in the seclusion 
which she suggests. I am sorry to say it to you, 
Egbert but I have not been able to find any em- 


316 KhfIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

ployment for you such as you would take, or 1 
would be willing to have you accept. Perhaps 
Providence points to submission to your mother’s 
will.” 

** If so, then I lose what little faith I have in 
Providence,” he replied impetuously. “ It is here, 
in this city, that I have fallen and disgraced myself, 
and it is here I ought to redeem myself, if I ever 
do. Weeks ago, in pride and self-confidence, I 
made the effort, and failed miserably, as might have 
been expected. Instead of being a gifted and bril- 
liant man, as I supposed, that had been suddenly 
brought under a cloud as much through misfortune 
as fault, I have discovered myself to be a weak, 
commonplace, illiterate fellow, strong only in bad 
passions and bad habits. Can I escape these pas- 
sions and habits by going elsewhere ? You have 
told me, in a way that excited my hope, of God’s 
power and willingness to help such as I am. If he 
will not help me here, he will not anyu’here ; and 
if, with his aid, I cannot surmount the obstacles in 
my way here, what is God’s promised help but a 
phrase which means nothing, and what are we but 
victims of circumstances?” 

“ Are you not reaching conclusions rather fast, 
Egbert? You forget that I and myriads of others 
have had proof of God’s power and willingness to 
help. If wide and varied experienced can settle any 
fact, this one has been settled. But we should ever 
remember that we are not to dictate the terms on 
which he is to help us.” 

I do not mean to do this,” said Haldane eagerly, 


THE LOW STARTING-POINT. 


317 


‘ but I have a conviction that I ought to remain in 
Hillaton. To tell you the truth, Mrs. Arnot, I am 
afraid to go elsewhere,” he added in a low tone, 
while tears suffused his eyes. “ You are the only 
friend in the universe that I am sure cares for me, 
or that I can trust without misgivings. To me God 
is yet but little more than a name, and one that 
heretofore I have either forgotten or feared. You 
have led me to hope that it might be otherwise 
some day, but it is not so yet, and I dare not go 
away alone where no one cares for me, for I feel 
sure that I would give way to utter despondency, 
and recklessness would follow as a matter of course.” 

“ O Egbert,” sighed Mrs. Arnot, “ how weak you 
are, and how foolish, in trusting so greatly in a mere 
fellow-creature.” 

“ Yes, Mrs. Arnot, ‘ weak and foolish.’ Those two 
words now seem to sum up my whole life and all 
there is of me.” 

“ And yet,” she added earnestly, “ if you will, you 
can still achieve a strong and noble character. O 
that you had the courage and heroic faith in God to 
fight out this battle to the end ! Should you do so, 
as I told you before, you would be my ideal knight. 
Heaven would ring with your praise, however un- 
friendly the world might be. I cannot conceive of 
a grander victory than that of a debased nature over 
itself. If you should win such a victory, Egbert — if, 
in addition, you were able, by the blessing of God on 
your efforts, to build up a strong, true character — I 
would honor you above other men, even though you 
remained a wood-sawyer all your days,” and her 


1 8 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTVRY. 


dark eyes became lustrous with deep feeling as she 
spoke. 

Haldane looked at her fixedly for a moment, and 
grew very pale. He then spoke slowly and in a low 
tone : 

“To fail after what you have said and after all 
your kindness would be terrible. To continue my 
old vile self, and also remember the prospect you 
now hold out — what could be worse ? And yet what 
I shall do, what I shall be, God only knows. But in 
sending you to me I feel that he has given me one 
more chance.” 

“ Egbert,” she replied eagerly, “ God will give you 
chances as long as you breathe. Only the devil will 
tell you to despair. He, never. Remember this 
^hould you grow old in sin. To tell you the truth, 
^however, as I see you going out into the world so 
humbled, so self-distrustful, I have far more hope for 
you than when you first left this place, fully assured 
that you were, in yourself, sufficient for all your pe- 
culiar difficulties. And now, once more, good-by, 
for a time. I will do every thing I can for you. I 
have seen Mr. Growther to-day, and he appears very 
willing that you should return to his house for the 
present. Strange old man! I want to know him 
better, for I believe his evil is chiefly on the outside, 
and will fall off some day, to his great surprise.” 


A SAC/iED REFRIGERATOR. 




CHAPTER XXXII. 

A SACRED REFRIGERATOR. 

T he glare of the streets was intolerable to Hal- 
dane after his confinement, and he hastened 
through them, looking neither to the right hand nor 
to the left. A growl from Mr. Growther’s dog greeted 
him as he entered, and the old man himself snarled, 
“ Well, I s’pose you stood me as long as you 
could, and then went to prison for a while for a 
change." 

“ You are mistaken, Mr. Growther ; I went to prison 
because I deserved to go there, and it’s very good 
of you to let me come back again." 

“ No, it ain’t good of me, nuther. I want a little 
peace and comfort, and how could I have ’em while 
you was bein’ kicked and cuffed around the streets ? 
Here, I’ll get you some dinner. I s’pose they only 
gave you enough at jail to aggravate your in’ards." 

No, nothing more, please. Isn’t there some- 
tiling I can do ? I’ve sat still long enough." 

Mr. Growther looked at him a moment, and then 
said, 

“ Are you sayin’ that because you mean it ? " 
“-Yes." 

“ Would you mind helpin’ me make a little gar- 


320 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

den ? I know I ought to have done it long ago, but 
I’m one of those ’crastinating cusses, and rheumatic 
in the bargain.” 

“ I’ll make your garden on the one condition that 
you stand by and boss the job.” 

‘‘ O, I’m good at bossin’, if nothing else. There 
ain’t much use of plantin’ any thing, though, for 
every pesky bug and worm in town will start for my 
patch as soon as they hear on’t.” 

I suppose they come on the same principle that 
I do.” 

“ They hain’t so welcome — the cussed little var- 
mints! Some on ’em are so blasted mean that I know 
I ought to be easier on ’em just out of feller feelin’. 
Them cut-worms now — if they’d only take a plant and 
satisfy their nateral appetites on it, it would go a good 
ways, and the rest o’ the plants would have a chance 
to grow out of harm’s way ; but the nasty little 
things will jest eat ’em off above the ground, as if 
they was cut in two by a knife, and then go on to 
anuther. That’s what I call a mean way of gettin’ a 
livin’ ; but there’s lots of people like ’em in town, 
who spile more than they eat. Then there’s the 
squash-bug. If it’s his nater to eat up the vines I 
s’pose he must do it, but why in thunder must he 
smell bad enough to knock you over into the bar- 
gain? It’s allers been my private opinion that the 
devil made these pests, and the Lord had nothin’ to 
do with ’em. The idea that he should create a rose, 
and then a rose-bug to spile it, ain’t reconcilable to 
what little reason I’ve got.” 

** Well,” replied Haldane with a glimmer of a 


A SACRED REFRIGERATOR. 


321 


smile, I cannot account for rose-bugs and a good 
many worse things. I notice, however, that in spite 
of all these enemies people manage to raise a great 
deal that’s very nice every year. Suppose we try 
it.” 

They were soon at work, and Haldane felt the 
better for a few hours’ exercise in the open air. 

The next morning Mrs. Arnot brought some pa- 
pers which she said a legal friend wished copied, and 
she left with them, inclosed in an envelope, payment 
in advance. After she had gone Haldane offered 
the money to Mr. Growther, but the old man only 
growled, 

“ Chuck it in a drawer, and the one of us who 
wants it first can have it.” 

For the next two or three weeks Mrs. Arnot, by 
the dint of considerable effort, kept up a supply of 
MSS., of which copies were required, and she sup- 
plemented the prices which the parties concerned 
were willing to pay. Her charitible and helpful 
habits were well known to her friends, and they often 
enabled her thus to aid those to whom she could not 
give money direct. But this uncertain employment 
would soon fail, and what her protig^ was then to do 
she could not foresee. No one would trust him, and 
no one cared to have him about his premises. 

But in the meantime the young man was thinking 
deeply for himself. He soon concluded not to make 
Mr. Growther’s humble cottage a hiding-place ; and 
he commenced walking abroad through the city after 
the work of the day. He assumed no bravado, but 
went quietly on his way like any other passer-by.- 

14 * 


322 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

The majority of those who knew who he was either 
ignored his existence, or else looked curiously after 
him, but some took pains to manifest their con- 
tempt. He could not have been more lonely and 
isolated if he were walking a desert. 

Among the promises he had made Mrs. Arnot 
was that he would attend church, and she naturally 
asked him to come to her own. 

As you feel toward my husband, it will probably 
not be pleasant for you to come to our pew,** she 
had said ; “ but I hope the time will come when by- 
gones will be by-gones. The sexton, however, will 
give you a seat, and our minister preaches excellent 
sermons.” 

Not long after, true to his word, the young man 
went a little early, as he wished to be as unobtrusive 
as possible. At the same time there was nothing 
furtive or cringing in his nature. As he had openly 
done wrong, he was now resolved to try as openly 
to do right, and let people ascribe whatever motive 
they chose. 

But his heart misgave him as he approached 
the new elegant church on the most fashionable 
street. He felt that his clothes were not in keep- 
ing with either the place of worship or the wor- 
shipers. 

Mr. Arnot *s confidential clerk was talking with 
the sexton as he hesitatingly mounted the granite 
steps, and he saw that dignified functionary, who 
seemed in some way made Xo order with the church 
over which he presided, eye him askance while he 
lent an ear to what ^as evidently a bit of his his 


A SACRED REFRIGERATOR. 


323 

tory. AA^alking quietly but firmly up to the official, 
Haldane asked, 

“ Will you give me a seat, sir? 

The man reddened, frowned, and then said. 
Really, sir, our seats are generally taken Sunday 
mornings. I think you will feel more at home at 
our mission chapel in Guy street.” 

‘‘And among the guys, why don’t you add?” 
retorted Haldane, his old spirit flashing up, and he 
turned on his heel and stalked back to Mr. Grow- 
ther’s cottage. 

“ Short sermon to-day,” said the old man starting 
out of a doze. 

Haldane told him of his reception. 

The wrinkles in the quaint visage of his host grew 
deep and complicated, as though he had tasted some- 
thing very bitter, and he remarked sententiously, 

“ If Satan could he’d pay that sexton a whoppin’ 
sum to stand at the door and keep sinners out.” 

“ No need of the devil paying him any thing; the 
well-dressed Christians see to that. As I promised 
Mrs. Arnot to come, I tried to keep my word, but 
this flunky’s face and manner alone are enough to 
turn away such as I am. None but the eminently 
respectable need apply at that gate of heaven. If 
it were not for Mrs. Arnot I would believe the whole 
thing a farce.” 

‘ Is Jesus Christ a farce?” asked the practical Mr. 
Growther, testily. “ What is the use of jumping 
five hundred miles from the truth because you’ve 
happened to run afoul of some of those Pharisees 
that he cussed ? ” 


P4 knight of the nineteenth century 

Haldane laughed and said, “ You have a matter-of- 
fact way of putting things that there is no escaping. 
It will, probably, do me more good to stay home 
and read the Bible to you than to be at church.” 

The confidential clerk, who had remained gos- 
siping in the vestibule, thought the scene he had 
witnessed worth mentioning to his employer, who 
entered with Mrs. Arnot not very long after, and 
lingered for a word or two. The man of business 
smiled grimly, and passed on. He usually attended 
church once a day, partly from habit and partly 
because it was the respectable thing to do. He had 
been known to remark that he never lost any thing 
by it, for some of his most successful moves sug- 
gested themselves to his mind during the monotony 
of the service. 

To annoy his wife, and also to gratify a disposition 
to sneer at the faults of Christians, Mr. Arnot, at 
the dinner, commenced to commend ironically the 
sexton’s course. 

“A most judicious man!” he affirmed. Saint 
Peter himself at the gate could not more accurately 
strain out the saints from the sinners — nay, he is 
even keener-eyed than Saint Peter, for he can tell 
first-class from second-class saints. Though our 
church is not full, I now understand why we have a 
mission chapel. You may trust ‘ Jeems ’ to keep out 
all but the very first class — those who can exchange 
silk and broadcloth for the white robe. But what 
on earth could have brought about such a speedy 
transition from jail to church on the part of Hal- 
dane ? ” 


A SACRED REFRIGERATOR. 


325 


“ I invited him,*’ said Mrs. Arnot, in a pained 
tone ; but I did not think it would be to meet 
with insult.” 

“ Insult ! Quite the reverse. I should think that 
such as he ought to feel it an honor to be permitted 
a pla-ce among the second-class saints.” 

, Mrs. Arnot’s thoughts were very busy that after- 
noon. She was not by nature an innovator, and, 
indeed, was inclined to accept the established order 
of things without very close questioning. Her Chris- 
tian life had been developed chiefly by circumstances 
purely personal, and she had unconsciously found 
walks of usefulness apart from the organize^ church 
work. But she was a devout worshiper and a careful 
listener to the truth. It had been her custom to ride 
to the morning service, and, as they resided some 
distance from the church, to remain at home in the 
evening, giving all in her employ a chance to go out. 

Concerning the financial affairs of the church she 
was kept well informed, for she was a liberal con- 
tributor, and also to all other good causes presented. 
From earliest years her eye had always been accus- 
tomed to the phases presented by a fashionable 
church, and every thing moved forward so quietly 
and with such sacred decorum that the thought of 
any thing wrong did not occur to her. 

But the truth that one who was endeavoring to 
lead a better life had been practically turned from 
the door of God’s house seemed to her a monstrous 
thing. How much truth was there in her husband’s 
sarcasm? How far did her church represent the 
accessible Jesus of Nazareth, to whom all were wel- 


326 KNIGHT OT THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

corned, or how far did it misrepresent him ? Now 
that her attention was called to the fact, she remem- 
bered that the congregation was chiefly made up 
of the Ylite of the city, and that she rarely had 
seen any one present who did not clearly present 
the fullest evidence of respectability. Were those 
whom the Master most emphatically came to seek and 
save excluded ? She determined to find out speedily. 

Summoning her coachman, she told him that she 
wished to attend church that evening. She dressed 
herself very plainly, and entered the church closely 
vailed. Instead of going to her own pew, she asked 
the judicious and discriminating sexton for a seat. 
After a careless glance he pointed to one of the 
seats near the door, and turned his back upon her. 
A richly dressed lady and gentleman entered soon 
after, and he was all attention, marshaling them up 
the aisle into Mrs. Arnot’s own pew, since it was 
known she did not occupy it in the evening. A few 
decent, plain-looking women, evidently sent thither 
by the wealthy families in whose employ they were, 
came in hesitatingly, and those who did not take 
seats near the entrance, as a matter of course, were 
motioned thither without ceremony. The audience 
room was but sparsely filled, large families being 
represented by one or two members or not at all. 
But Mrs. Arnot saw none of Haldane’s class present 
— none who looked as if they were in danger, and 
needed a kind, strong, rescuing hand — none who 
looked hungry and athirst for truth because per- 
ishing for its lack. In that elegant and eminently 
respectable place, upholstered and decorated with 


A SACRED REFRIGERATOR, 


327 


faultless taste, there was not a hint of publicans and 
sinners. One might suppose he was in the midst of 
the millennium, and that the classes to whom Christ 
preached had all become so thoroughly converted 
that they did not even need to attend church* 
There was not a suggestion of the fact that but a 
few blocks away enough to fill the empty pews were 
living worse than heathen lives. 

The choir performed their part melodiously, and a 
master in music could have found no fault with the 
technical rendering of the musical score. They were 
paid to sing, and they gave to such of their em- 
ployers as cared to be present every note as it' 
was written, in its full value. As never before, it 
struck Mrs. Arnot as a performance. The service 
she had attended hitherto was partly the creation of 
her own earnest and devotional spirit. To-night she 
was learning to know the service as it really existed. 

The minister was evidently a cortscientious man, 
for he had prepared his evening discourse for his 
thin audience as thoroughly as he had his morning 
sermon. Every word was carefully written down, 
and the thought of the text was exhaustively devel- 
oped. But Mrs. Arnot was too far back to hear well. 
The poor man seemed weary and discouraged with 
the arid wastes of empty seats over which he must 
scatter the seeds of truth to no purpose. He looked 
dim and ghostly in the far-away pulpit, and in spite 
of herself his sermon began to have the aspect of a 
paid performance, the effect of which would scarcely 
be more appreciable than the sighing of the wind 
without. The keenest theologian could not detect 


328 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

the deviation of a hair from the received orthodox 
views, and the majority present were evidently satis- 
fied that his views would be correct, for they did 
not give very close attention. The few plain domes- 
tics near her dozed and nodded through the hour, 
and so gained some physical preparation for the toils 
of the week, but their spiritual natures were as clearly 
dormant as their lumpish bodies. 

After the service Mrs. Arnot lingered, to see if 
any one would speak to her as a stranger and ask 
her to come again. Such was clearly not the habit 
of the congregation. She felt that her black vail, an 
evidence of sorrow, was a sort of signal of distress 
which ought to have lured some one to her side 
with a kind word or two, but beyond a few curious 
glances she was unnoticed. People spoke who were 
acquainted, who had been introduced to each other. 
As the worshipers (?) hastened out, glad to escape 
to regions where living questions and interests exist- 
ed, the sexton, who had been dozing in a comfort- 
able corner, bustled to the far end of the church, and 
commenced, with an assistant, turning out the lights 
on either side so rapidly that it seemed as if a wave 
of darkness was following those who had come thither 
ostensibly seeking light. 

Mrs. Arnot hastened to her carriage, where it stood 
under the obscuring shadow of a tree, and was driven 
home sad and indignant — most indignant at herself 
that she had been so absorbed in her own thoughts 
and life that she had not discovered that the church 
to build and sustain which she had given so liberally 
was scarcely better than a costly refrigerator. 


A DOUBTFUL BATTLE IN PROSPECT 349 


CHAPTER XXXIIT. 

A DOUBTFUL BATTLE IN PROSPECT 



HE painful impression made by the evening 


X service that has been described acted as a rude 
disenchantment, and the beautiful church, to which 
Mrs. Arnot had returned every Sabbath morning 
with increasing pleasure, became as repulsive as it 
had been sacred and attractive. To her sincere and 
earnest spirit any thing in the nature of a sham was 
peculiarly offensive ; and what, she often asked her- 
self, could be more un-Christlike than this service 
which had been held in his name ? 

The revelation so astonished and disheartened her 
that she was prone to believe that there was some- 
thing exceptional in that miserable Sabbath even- 
ing’s experience, and she determined to observe 
further and more closely before taking any action. 
She spoke frankly of her feelings and purposes to 
Haldane, and in so doing benefited the young man 
very much ; for he was thus led to draw a sharp 
line between Christ and the Christlike and that 
phase of Christianity which is largely leavened with 
this world No excuse was given him to jumble the 
true and the false together. 

“You will do me a favor if you will quietly enter 


330 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


the church next Sunday morning and evening, and 
unobtrusively take one of the seats near the door,” 
she said to him. “ I wish to bring this matter to an 
issue as soon as possible. If you could manage to 
enter a little in advance of me, I would also be glad. 
I know how Christ received sinners, and I would like 
to see how we who profess to be representing him 
receive those who come to his house.” 

Haldane did as she requested. In a quiet and 
perfectly unobtrusive manner he walked up the gra- 
nite steps into the vestibule, and his coarse, gray 
suit, although scrupulously clean, was conspicuous 
in its contrast with the elegant attire of the other 
worshipers. He himself was conspicuous also; for 
many knew who he was, and whispered the informa- 
tion to others. A “jail-bird” was, indeed, a rara 
avis in that congregation, and there was a slight, 
but perfectly decorous, sensation. However greatly 
these elegant people might lack the spirit of Him 
who was “ the friend of publicans and sinners,” they 
would not for the world do any thing that was overtly 
rude or ill-bred. Only the official sexton frowned 
visibly as the youth took a scat near the door. 
Others looked askance or glided past like polished 
icicles. Haldane’s teeth almost chattered with the 
cold. He felt himself oppressed, and almost pushed 
out of the house, by the moral atmosphere created 
by the repellent thoughts of some who apparently 
felt the place defiled by his presence. Mrs. Arnot, 
with her keen intuition, felt this atmosphere also, 
and detected on the part of one or two of the officers 
of the Church an unchristian spirit. Although the 


A DOUBTFUL BATTLE IN PROSPECT. 


33 ^ 

sermon was an excellent one that morning, she did 
not hear it. 

In the evening a lady draped in a black vail sat 
by Haldane. The service was but a dreary counter- 
part of the one of the previous Sabbath. The sky 
had been overcast and slightly threatening, and still 
fewer worshipers had ventured out. 

Beyond furtive and curious glances no one noticed 
them save the sexton, who looked and acted as if 
Haldane’s continued coming was a nuisance, which, 
in some way, he must manage to abate. 

The young man waited for Mrs. Arnot at her car- 
riage-door, and said as he handed her in : 

“ I have kept my word ; but please do not ask me 
to come to this church again, or I shall turn infidel." 

“ I shall not come myself again," she replied, 
“ unless there is a decided change." 

The next morning she wrote notes to two of the 
leading officers of the church, asking them to call 
that evening; and her request was so urgent that 
they both came at the appointed hour. 

Mrs. Arnot’s quiet but clear and distinct statement 
of the evils of which she had become conscious 
greatly surprised and annoyed them. Theyj, with 
their associates, had been given credit for organizing 
and “ running " the most fashionable and prosperous 
church in town. An elegant structure had been 
built and paid for, and such a character given the 
congregation that if strangers visited or were about 
to take up their abode in the city they were made 
to feel that the door of this church led to social 
position and the most aristocratic circles. Of 


332 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

course, mistakes were made. People sometimes 
elbowed their way in who were evidently flaunting 
weeds among the patrician flowers, and occasionally 
plain, honest, but somewhat obtuse souls would 
come as to a Christian church. But people who 
were * not desirable ” — the meaning of this phrase 
had become well understood in Hillaton — were gen- 
erally frozen out by an atmosphere made so chilly, 
even in August, that they were glad to escape to 
other associations less benumbing. Indeed, it was 
now so generally recognized that only those of 
the best and most assured social position were “ de- 
sirable,” that few others ventured up the granite 
steps or sought admittance to this region of sacred 
respectability. And yet all this had been brought 
about so gradually, and sc entirely within the laws 
of good breeding and ecclesiastical usage, and also 
under the most orthodox preaching, that no one 
could lay his finger on any thing upon which to raise 
an issue. 

The result was just what these officers had been 
working for, and it was vexatious indeed that, after 
years of successful manipulation, a lady of Mrs. Ar- 
not’s position should threaten to make trouble. 

“ My dear Mrs. Arnot,” said one of these polished 
gentlemen, with a suavity that was designed to con- 
ciliate, but which was nevertheless tinged with philo- 
sophical dogmatism, “ there are certain things that 
will not mix, and the attempt to mingle them is 
wasting time on the impossible. It is in accordance 
with the laws of nature that each class should draw 
together according to their affinities and social sta- 


A DOUBTFUL BATTLE IN PROSPECT 


333 

tus. Our church is now entirely homogeneous, and 
every thing moves forward without any friction.” 

It appears to me sadly machine-like,” the lady 
remarked. 

“ Indeed, madam,” with a trace of offended dig- 
nity, “ is not the Gospel ably preached ? ” 

** Yes, but it is not obeyed. We have been made 
homogeneous solely on worldly principles, and not 
on those taught in the Gospels.” 

They could not agree, as might have been sup- 
posed, and Mrs. Arnot was thought to be unreason- 
able and full of impracticable theories. 

“Very well, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Arnot, with 
some warmth, “ if there can be no change in these 
respects, no other course is left for me but to with- 
draw ; ” and the religious politicians bowed them- 
selves out, much relieved, feeling that this was the 
easiest solution of the question. 

Mrs. Arnot soon after wrote to the Rev. Dr. Bar- 
stow, pastor of the church, for a letter of dismission. 
The good man was much surprised by the contents 
of this missive. Indeed, it so completely broke a 
chain of deep theological speculation, that he desert- 
ed his study for the street. Here he met an officer 
of the church, a man somewhat advanced in years, 
whom he had come to regard as rather reserved and 
taciturn in disposition. But in his perplexity he 
exhibited Mrs. Arnot’s letter, and asked an explana- 
tion. 

“ Well,” said the gentleman, uneasily, “ I under- 
stand that Mrs. Arnot is dissatisfied, and perhaps 
she has some reason to be.” 


334 knight of the nineteenth century 

“Upon what grounds?” asked the clergyman 
hastily. 

“ Suppose we call upon her,” was the reply. “ I 
would rather you should hear her reasons from 
herself ; and, in fact, I would be glad to hear them 
also.” 

Half an hour later they sat in Mrs, Arnot’s parlor. 

“ My dear madam,” said Dr. Rarstow, “ are you 
willing to tell us frankly what has led to the request 
contained in this letter. I hope that I am in no way 
to blame.” 

“ Perhaps we have all been somewhat to blame,” 
replied Mrs. Arnot in a tone so gentle and quiet as 
to prove that she was under the influence of no un- 
kindly feeling or resentment ; “ at least I feel that I 
have been much to blame for not seeing what is 
now but too plain. But habit and custom deaden 
our perceptions. The aspect of our church was that 
of good society, — nothing. to jar upon or offend 
the most critical taste. Your sermons were deeply 
thoughtful and profound, and I both enjoyed and 
was benefited by them. I came and went wrapped 
up in my own spiritual life and absorbed in my own 
plans and work, when, unexpectedly, an incident oc- 
curred which revealed to me what I fear is the animus 
and character of our church organization. I can 
best tell you what I mean by relating my experi- 
ence and that of a young man whom I have every 
reason to believe wishes to lead a better life, yes, 
even a Christian life ; ” and she graphically por- 
trayed all that had occurred, and the impressions 
made upon her by the atmosphere she had found 


A DOUBTFUL BATTLE IN PROSPECT. 335 

prevalent, when she placed herself in the attitude 
of a humble stranger. 

And now,'’ she said in conclusion, “do we rep- 
resent Christ, or are we so leavened by the world 
that it may be doubted whether he would acknowl- 
edge us?” 

The minister shaded his pained and troubled face 
w th his hand. 

“ We represent the world,” said the church officer 
emphatically ; “ I have had a miserable conscious- 
ness of whither we were drifting for a long time, 
but every thing has come about so gradually and 
so properly, as it were, that I could find no one 
thing upon which I could lay my finger and say. 
This is wrong and I protest against it. Of course, 
if I had heard the sexton make such a remark to 
any one seeking to enter the house of God as was 
made to the young man you mention I should have 
interfered. And yet the question is one of great 
difficulty. Can such diverse classes meet on com- 
mon ground? ” 

“ My dear sir,” said Mrs. Arnot earnestly, “ T do 
not think we, as a church, are called upon to adjust 
these diverse classes, and to settle, on the Sabbath, 
nice social distinctions. The Head of the Church said, 
‘Whosoever will, let him come.’ We, pretending to 
act in his name and by his authority, say, ‘ Whoso- 
ever is sufficiently respectable and well-dressed, let 
him come.’ I feel that I cannot any longer be a 
party to this perversion. 

“If we would preserve our right to be known as a 
Christian church we must say to all, to the poor, to the 


336 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

most sinful and debased, as well as to those who are 
now welcomed, ‘ Come ; ' and when they are within 
our walls they should be made to feel that the house 
does not belong to an aristocratic clique, but rather 
to him who was the friend of publicans and sinners. 
Christ adjusted himself to ^he diverse classes. Are 
we his superiors ? ” 

** But, my dear madame, are there to be no social 
distinctions ? ” 

“ I am not speaking of social distinctions. Birth, 
culture, and wealth will always, and very properly, 
too, make great differences. In inviting people to 
our homes we may largely consult our own tastes 
and preferences, and neither good sense nor Christian 
duty requires that there should be intimacy between 
those unfitted for it by education and character. But 
a church is not our house, but God’s house, and what 
right have we to stand in the door and turn away 
those whom he most cordially invites? Christ had 
his beloved disciple, and so we can have our beloved 
and congenial friends. But there were none too low 
or lowly for him to help by direct personal effort, by 
sympathetic contact, and I, for one, dare not ignore 
his example.” 

“ Do you not think we can better accomplish this 
work by our mission chapel ? ” 

‘‘ Where is your precedent ? Christ washed the 
feet of fishermen in order to give us an example of 
humility, and to teach us that we should be willing 
to serve any one in his name. I heartily approve 
of mission chapels as outposts ; but, as in earthly 
warfare, they should be posf^ of honor, posts for the 


A DOUBTFUL BATTLE IN PROSPECT. 337 

brave, the sagacious, and the most worthy. If they 
are maintained in the character of second-class cars, 
they are to that extent unchristian. If those who 
are gathered there are to be kept there solely on 
account of their dress and humble circumstances, I 
would much prefer taking my chances of meeting 
my Master with them than in the church which practi- 
cally excludes them. 

“ Christ said, ‘ I was a stranger, and ye took me 
in.’ I came to our church as a stranger twice. I 
was permitted to walk in and walk out, but no one 
spoke to me, no one invited me to come again. It 
seems to me that I would starve rather than enter a 
private house where I was so coldly treated. I have 
no desire for startling innovations. I simply wish to 
unite myself with a church that is trying to imitate 
the example of the Master, and where all, whatever 
may be their garb or social and moral character, are 
cordially invited and sincerely welcomed.” 

Dr. Barstow now removed his hand from his face. 
It was pale, but its expression was resolute and 
noble. 

“ Mrs. Arnot, permit me to say that you are both 
right and wrong,” he said. “ Your views of what a 
chsurch should be are right ; you are wrong in wish- 
ing to withdraw before having patiently and pray- 
erfully sought to inculcate a true Christian spirit 
among those to whom you owe and have promised 
Christian fidelity. You know that I have not very 
long been the pastor of this church, but I have 
already felt that something was amiss. I have been 
oppressed and benumbed with a certain coldness 


338 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

and formality in our church life. At the same time 
I admit, with contrition, that I have given way to 
my besetting sin. I am naturally a student, and 
when once in my study I forget the outside world. 
I am prone to become wholly occupied with the 
thought of my text, and to forget those for whom 
I am preparing my discourse. I, too, often think 
more of the sermon than of the people, forgetting 
the end in the means, and thus I fear I was becom- 
ing but a voice, a religious philosophy, among them, 
instead of a living and a personal power. You have 
been awakened to the truth, Mrs. Arnot, and you 
have awakened me. I do not feel equal to the task 
which I clearly foresee before me ; I may fail miser- 
ably, but I shall no longer darken counsel with niany 
words. You have given me much food for thought ; 
and while I cannot foretell the end, I think present 
duty will be made clear. In times of perplexity it is 
our part to do what seems right, asking God for 
guidance, and then leave the consequences to him. 
One thing seems plain to me, however, that it is 
your present duty to remain with us, and give your 
prayers and the whole weight of your influence on 
the side of reform.’’ 

“ Dr. Barstow,” said Mrs. Arnot, her face flushing 
slightly, “ you are right ; you are right. I have been 
hasty, and, while condemning others, was acting 
wrong myself. You have shown the truer Christian 
spirit. I will remain while there is any hope of a 
change for the better.” 

“Well, Mrs. Arnot,” said Mr. Blakeman, the 
elderly church offlcer, “ ^ have drawn you out 


DOUBTFUL BATTLE IN PROSPECT, 339 


partly, to get your views and partly to get some 
clearer views myself. I, too, am with you, doctor, 
in this struggle; but I warn you both that we shall 
have a hot time before we thaw the ice out of our 
church.** 

First pure, and then peaceable,** said the minis- 
ter slowly and musingly ; and then they separated, 
each feeling somewhat as soldiers who are about 
to engage in a severe and doubtful battle. 


340 


KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A FOOT-HOLD. 

HE skies did not brighten for Haldane, and he 



A remained perplexed and despondent. When 
one wishes to reform, every thing does not become 
lovely in this unfriendly world. The first steps are 
usually the most difficult, and the earliest experi- 
ence the most disheartening. God never designed 
that reform should be easy. As it is, people are 
too ready to live the life which renders reform 
necessary. The ranks of the victims of evil would 
be doubled did not a wholesome fear of the conse- 
quences restrain. 

Within a few short weeks the fortunes of the 
wealthy and self-confident youth had altered so 
greatly that now he questioned whether the world 
would give him bread, except on conditions that 
were painfully repugnant. 

There was his mother’s offer, it is true ; but had 
Mrs. Haldane considered the nature of this offer, 
even she could scarcely have made it. Suppose he 
tried to follow out his mother’s plan, and went to 
a city where he was unknown, could she expect an 
active young fellow to go to an obscure boarding- 
house, and merely eat and sleep ? By an inevitable 
law the springing forces of his nature must find 


A FOOT-HOLD, 


341 


employment either in good or evil. If he sought 
employment of any kind, the question would at 
once arise, “ Who are you ? ” and sooner or later 
would come his history. In his long, troubled reve- 
ries he thought of all this, and the prospect of vege- 
tating in dull obscurity at his mother’s expense was 
as pleasant as that of being buried alive. 

Moreover, he could not endure to leave Hillaton 
in utter defeat. He was prostrate, and felt the foot 
of adverse fate upon his neck, but he would not ac- 
knowledge himself conquered. If he could regain 
his feet he would renew the struggle ; and he hoped 
in some way to do so. As yet, however, the future 
was a wall of darkness. 

Neither did he find any rest for his spiritual feet. 
For some reason he could not grasp the idea of a 
personal God who cared enough for him to give any 
practical help. In spite of all that Mrs. Arnot could 
say, his heart remained as cold and heavy as a stone 
within his breast. 

But to some extent he could appreciate the pic- 
ture she had presented. He saw one who, through 
weakness and folly, had fallen into the depths of 
degradation, patiently and bravely fighting his way 
up to a true manhood ; and he had been made to 
feel that it was such a noble thing to do that he 
longed to accomplish it. Whether he could or no 
he was not sure, for his old confidence was all gone. 
But he daily grew more bent on making an honest 
trial, and in this effort a certain native persistency 
and unwillingness to yield would be of much help 
to him. 


342 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

He was now willing, also, to receive any aid which 
self-respect permitted him to accept, and was grate- 
ful for the copying obtained for him by Mrs. Amot. 
But she frankly told him that it would not last long 
The question what he should do next pressed heavily 
upon him. 

As he was reading the paper to Mr. Growther one 
evening, his eye caught an advertisement which 
stated that more hands were needed at a certain 
factory in the suburbs. He felt sure that if he pre- 
sented himself in the morning with the others he 
would be refused, and he formed the bold purpose 
of going at once to the manufacturer. Having 
found the stately residence, he said to the servant 
who answered his summons, 

** Will you say to Mr. Ivison that a person wishes 
to see him? ” 

The maid eyed him critically, and concluded, from 
his garb, to leave him standing in the hall. 

Mr. Ivison left his guests in the parlor and came 
out, annoyed at the interruption. 

** Well, what do you wish, sir ? ’’ he said, in a tone that 
was far from being encouraging, at the same time gain- 
ing an unfavorable impression from Haldane’s dress. 

“ In the evening paper you advertised for more 
hands in your factory. I wish employment.” 

Are you drunk, or crazy, that you thus apply a.t 
my residence?” was the harsh reply. 

** Neither, sir ; I — ” 

‘‘You are very presuming, then.” 

“You would not employ me if I came in the 
morning.” 


A FOOT-HOLD. 


343 


“ What do you mean ? Who are you ? ” 

“ I am at least human. Can you give one or two 
moments to the consideration of my case ? ” 

“ One might afford that much,” said the gentle- 
man with a half-apologetic laugh ; for the pale face 
and peculiar bearing of the stranger were beginning 
to interest him. 

I do not ask more of your time, and will come 
directly to the point. My name » Haldane, and, as 
far as I am concerned, you know nothing good con- 
cerning me.” 

“ You are correct,” said Mr. Ivison coldly. I 
shall not need your services.” ' 

“ Mr. Ivison,” said Haldane in a tone that made 
the gentleman pause, “ ought I to be a thief and a 
vagabond ? ” 

“ Certainly not.” 

Then why do you, and all who, like you, have 
honest work to give, leave me no other alternative ? 
I have acted wrongly and foolishly, but I wish to do 
better. I do not ask a place of trust, only work with 
others, under the eyes of others, where I could not 
rob you of a cent’s worth if I wished. In the hurry 
and routine of your office you would not listen to 
me, so I come to-night and make this appeal. If 
you refuse it, and I go to the devil, you will have a 
hand in the result.” 

The prompt business-man, whose mind had learned 
to work with the rapidity of his machinery, looked 
at the troubled, half-desperate face a moment, and 
then said emphatically, 

“By Jove, you are right! I’ll give you work. 


344 knight of the NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

Come to-morrow. Good night, and good luck to 
your good intentions. But remember, no nonsense.” 

Here at last was a chance ; here at last was regular 
employment. It was one step forward. Would he 
be able to hold it? This seemed doubtful on the 
morrow after he had realized the nature of his sur- 
roundings. He was set to work in a large room full of 
men, boys, and slatternly-dressed girls. He was both 
scolded and laughed at for the inevitable awkward- 
ness of a new beginner, and soon his name and his- 
tory began to be whispered about. During the noon 
recess a rude fellow flung the epithet of “jail-bird ” 
at him, and, of course, it stuck like a burr. Never in 
all his life had he made such an eflbrt at self-control 
as that which kept his hands off this burly tormentor. 

He both puzzled and annoyed his companions. 
They knew that he did not belong to their class, and 
his bearing and manner made them unpleasantly 
conscious of his superi(5rity ; and yet all believed 
themselves so much more respectable than he, that 
they felt it was a wrong to them that he should be 
there at all. Thus he was predestined to dislike and 
ill-treatment. But that he could act as if he were 
deaf and blind to all that they could do or say was 
more than they could understand. With knit brows 
and firmly-closed lips he bent his whole mind to the 
mastery of the mechanical duties required of him, 
and when they were over he strode straight to his 
humble lodging-place. 

Mr. Gr Dwther watched him curiously as he reacted 
into lassitude and despondency after the strain and 
tension of the day. 


A FOOT-HOLD. 


345 

** It’s harder to stand than ’tis to git along with 
me, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes, much harder.” 

O thunder ! better give it up, then, and try 
something else.” 

No, it’s my only chance.” 

“ There’s plenty other things to do.” 

“ Not for me. These vulgar wretches I am work- 
ing with think it an outrage that a ‘jail-bird,’ as they 
call me, contaminates the foul air that they breathe. 
I maybe driven out by them ; but,” setting his teeth 
“ I won’t give up this foot-hold of my own accord.” 

“ You might have been President if you had shown 
such grit before you got down.” 

“That’s not pleasant to think of now.” 

“ I might ’a known that ; but it’s my mean way 
of comfortin’ people. A-a-h.” 

Haldane’s new venture out into the world could 
scarcely have had a more painful and prosaic begin- 
ning; but, as he said, he had gained a “ foot-hold.” 

There was one other encouraging fact, of which 
he did not know. Mr. Ivison sent for the foreman 
of the room in which Haldane had been set at work, 
and said, 

“ Give the young fellow a fair chance, and report 
to me from time to time how he behaves ; but say 
nothing of this to him. If he gets at his old tricks, 
discharge him at once ; but if he shows the right 
spirit, I wish to know it’^ 

15* 


346 A^mCHT OF TITE NII/ETEEN-TlA CEJ^TlfRY, 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

''THAT SERMON WAS A BOMB-SHELL.” 

HE following Sabbath morning smiled sc 



X brightly that one might be tempted to believe 
that there was no sin and misery in the world, and 
that such a church as Mrs. Arnot condemned was an 
eminently proper organization. As the congrega- 
tion left their elegant homes, and in elegant toilets 
wended their way to their elegant church, they saw 
nothing in the blue sky and sunshine to remind 
them of the heavy shadows brooding over the earth. 
What more was needed than that they should give 
an hour to their aesthetic worship, as they had done 
in the past when the weather permitted, and then 
return to dinner and a nap and all the ordinary 
routine of life? There were no “ beasts at Ephesus ” 
to fight now. The times had changed, and to live 
in this age like an ancient Christian would be like 
going to Boston on foot when one might take a pal- 
ace car. Hundreds of fully grown, perfectly sane 
people filed into the church, who complacently felt 
that in attending service once or twice a week, if so 
inclined, they were very good Christians. And yet, 
strange to say, there was a conspicuous cross on the 
spire, and they had named their church " St. Paul’s.’ 


THAT SERMON WAS A BOMB- SHELL, 


347 


St. Paul ! liad they read his life ? If so, how came 
they to satirize themselves so severely ? A dwarf is 
the more to be pitied if named after a giant. 

It was very queer that this church should name 
itself after the tent-maker, who became all things to 
all men, and who said, “ I made myself servant unto 
all that I might gain the more.” 

It was very unfortunate for them to have chosen 
this saint, and yet the name. Saint Paul, had a very 
aristocratic sound in Hillaton, and thus far had 
seemed peculiarly fitted to the costly edifice on 
which it was carved. 

And never had the church seemed more stately 
than on this brilliant Sabbath morning , never had 
its elegance and that of the worshipers seemed more 
in harmony. 

But the stony repose and calm of their Gothic 
temple was not reflected in the faces of the people. 
There was a general air of perturbation and expect- 
ancy. The peculiar an-d complacent expression of 
those who are conscious of being especially well 
dressed and respectable was conspicuously absent. 
Annoyed, vexed, anxious faces passed into the ves- 
tibule. Knots of twos, threes, and half-dozens lin- 
gered and talked eagerly, with emphatic gestures 
and much shaking of heads. Many who disliked 
^ough weather from any cause avoided their fellow- 
members, and glided hastily in, looking worried and 
uncomfortable. Between the managing officers, who 
had felicitated themselves on having secured a con- 
gregation containing the crhne de la creme of the 
city, on one hand, and the disquieted Mr. Blakeman, 


348 KNIGHT JF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

who found the church growing uncomfortably cold, 
on the other, Mrs. Arnot’s words and acts and the 
minister’s implied pledge to bring the matter square- 
ly to an issue, had become generally known, and a 
foieboding as of some great catastrophe oppressed 
the people. If the truth were known, there were 
very general misgivings ; and, now that the people 
had been led to think, there were some uncomfort- 
able aspects to the question. Even that august 
dignitary the sexton was in a painful dilemma as 
to whether it would be best to assume an air of 
offended dignity, or veer with these eddying and 
varying currents until sure from what quarter the 
wind would finally blow. He had learned that it 
was Mrs. Arhot whom he had twice carelessly mo- 
tioned with his thumb into a back seat, and he could 
not help remarking to several of the more conserva- 
tive members, that “ it was very unjust and also un- 
kind in Mrs. Arnot to palm herself off on him as an 
ordinary pusson, when for a long time it had been 
the plainly understood policy of the church not to 
encourage ordinary pussons.” 

But the rumor that something unusual was about 
to take place at St. Paul’s brought thither on this 
particular Sabbath all kinds and descriptions of peo- 
ple ; and the dignified functionary whose duty it was 
to seat them grew so hot and flustered with his un- 
wonted tasks, and made such strange blunders that 
both he and others felt that they were on the verge 
of chaos. But the most extraordinary appearing 
personage was no other than Mr. Jeremiah Grow- 
ther ; and, as with his gnarled cane he hobbled along 


THAT SERMON WAS A BOMh SHELL, 349 

at Haldane’s side, he looked for all the woild as if 
some grotesque and antique carving had come to life 
and was out for an airing. Not only the sexton, 
but many others, looked askance at the tall, broad- 
shouldered youth of such evil fame, and his weird- 
appearing companion, as they walked quite far up 
the aisle before they could find a seat. 

Many rubbed their eyes to be sure it was not a 
dream. What had come over the decorous and ele- 
gant St. Paul’s ? When before had its dim, religious 
light revealed such scenes ? Whence this irruption 
of strange, uncouth creatures, — a jail-bird in a labor- 
er’s garb, and the profane old hermit, whom the 
boys had nicknamed “Jerry Growler,” and who had 
not been seen in church for years. 

Mrs. Arnot, followed by many eyes, passed quietly 
up to her pew, and bowed her head in prayer. 

Prayer! Ah! in their perturbation'some had for- 
gotten that this was the place of prayer, and hastily 
bowed their heads also. 

Mr. Arnot had been engaged in his business to 
the very steps, and much too absorbed during the 
week to hear or heed any rumors ; but as he walked 
up the -aisle he stared around in evident surprise, 
and gave several furtive glances over his shoulder 
after being seated. As his wife raised her head, he 
leaned toward her and whispered : 

“ What’s the matter with Jeems ? for, if I mistake 
not, there are a good many second-class saints here 
to-day.” But not a muscle changed in Mrs. Arnot’s 
pale face. Indeed, she scarcely heard him. Her 
soul was and had been for several days in the upper 


350 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

sanctuary, in the presence of God, pleading with 
him that he would return to this earthly temple 
which the spirit of the world had seemingly usurped. 

When Dr. Barstow arose to commence the ser- 
vice, a profound hush fell upon the people. Even 
his face and bearing impressed and awed them, and 
it was evident that he. too, had climbed some spiri- 
tual mountain, and had been face to face with God. 

As he proceeded with the service in tones tnat 
were deep and magnetic, the sense of unwonted 
solemnity increased. Hymns had been selected 
which the choir could not perform, but must sing ; 
and the relation between the sacred words and the 
music was apparent. The Scripture lessons were read 
as if they were a message for that particular con- 
gregation and for that special occasion, and, as the 
simple and authoritative words fell on the ear the 
general misgiving was increased. They seemed 
wholly on Mrs. Arnot’s side ; or, rather, she was on 
theirs. 

When, at last. Dr. Barstow rose, not as a sacred 
orator and theologian who is about to deliver a ser- 
mon, but rather as an earnest man, who had some- 
thing of vital moment to say, the silence ‘became 
almost oppressive. 

Instead of commencing by formally announcing 
bis text, as was his custom, he looked silently and 
steadily at his people for a moment, thus heighten- 
ing their expectancy. 

“ My friends,” he began slowly and quietly, and 
there was a suggestion of sorrow in his tone ra- 
ther than of menace or denunciation ; “ my friends, 


THAT SERMON WAS A BOMB-SHELL. 


35 « 


I wish to ask your calm and unprejudiced atten- 
tion to what I shall say this morning. I ask you 
to interpret my words in the light of the word 
of God and your own consciences; and if I am 
wrong in any respect I will readily acknowledge it 
Upon a certain occasion Christ said to his disci- 
ples, ‘ Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are 
of ; ’ and he at once proved how widely his spirit 
differed from theirs. They accepted the lesson, 
— they still followed him, and through close com- 
panionship eventually acquired his merciful, catholic 
spirit. But at this time they did not understand 
him nor themselves. Perhaps we can best under- 
stand the spirit we are of by considering his, and by 
learning to know him better whom we worship, by 
whose name we are called. 

“ During the past week I have been brought face 
to face with the Christ of the Bible, rather than the 
Christ of theology and philosophy, who has hitherto 
dwelt in my study ; and I have learned with sorrow 
and shame that my spirit differed widely from his. 
The Christ that came from heaven thought of the 
people, and had compassion on the multitude. I 
was engrossed with my sermons, my systems of 
truth, and nice interpretations of passages that I 
may have rendered more obscure. But I have made 
a vow in his name and strength that henceforth I 
will no longer come into this pulpit, or go into any 
other, to deliver sermons of my own. I shall no 
longer philosophize about Christ, but endeavor to 
lead you directly to Christ ; and thus you will learn 
by comparison what manner of spirit you are of, 


352 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

and, I trust, become imbued with his Spirit. I 
shall speak the truth in love, and yet without fear, 
and with no wordy disguise. Henceforth I do not 
belong to you but to my Master, and I shall present 
the Christ who loved all, who died for all, and who 
said to all, ‘ Whosoever will, let him come ! * 

. ** You will find my text in the Gospel of St. John, 
the nineteenth chapter and fifth verse : 

** *Then came Jesus forth, wearing the crown of 
thorns and the purple robe. And Pilate saith unto 
them. Behold the Man ! ’ 

“Let us behold him to-day, and learn to know 
him and to know ourselves better. If we discover 
any sad and fatal mistake in our religious life, let us 
correct it before it is too late." 

It would be impossible to portray the effect of the 
sermon that followed, coming, as it did, from a strong 
soul stirred to its depths by the truth under con- 
sideration. The people for the time being were 
swayed by it and carried away. What was said was 
seen to be truth, felt to be truth ; and as the divine 
Man stood out before them luminous in his own 
loving and compassionate deeds, which manifest- 
ed his character and the principles of the faith he 
founded, the old, exclusive, self-pleasing life of the 
church shriveled up as a farce and a sham. 

“ In conclusion," said Dr. Barstow, “ what was the 
spirit of this Man when he summoned publicans and 
fishermen to be his followers ? what was his spirit 
when he laid his hand on the leper? what, when 
he said to the outcast, ‘ Neither do I condemn thee, 
go and sin no more ? ’ what, when to the haughty 


' THAT SERMON WAS A BOMB-SHELL, 353 

Pharisees, the most respectable people of that day, 
he threatened, ‘ Woe unto you ! ’ 

“ He looked after the rich and almost perfect 
young man, by whom he was nevertheless rejected, 
and loved him ; he also said to the penitent thief, 
‘ To-day thou shalt be with me in Paradise.’ His 
heart was as large as humanity. Such was his 
spirit.” 

After a moment’s pause, in which there was a hush 
of breathless expectancy, Dr. Barstow’s deep tones 
were again heard. God grant that hencefoi rh 
yonder doors may be open to all whom Christ re- 
ceived, and with the same welcome that he gave. 
If this cannot be, the name of St. Paul, the man 
who ‘ made himself the servant ‘into all that he 
might gain the more,’ can no longer remain upon 
this church save in mockery. If this cannot be, 
whoever may come to this temple, Christ will not 
enter it, nor dwell within it.” 

The people looked at each other, and drew a long 
br*^ath. Even ^hose who were most in love with 
the old system forgot Dr. Barstow, and felt for the 
moment that they had a controversy with his Mas- 
ter. 

The congregation broke up in a quiet and subdued 
manner. All were too deeply impressed by what 
they had heard to be in a mood for talking as yet; 
and of the majority, it should be said in justice that, 
conscious of wrong, they were honestly desirous of 
a change for the better. 

During the sermon Mr. Growther’s quaint and 
wrinkled visage had worked most curiously, and 


354 knight of the nineteenth century. 

there were times when he with difficulty refrained 
from a hearty though rather profane indorsement. 

On his way home he said to Haldane, ** I’ve lived 
like a heathen on Lord’s day and all days ; but, by 
the holy poker. I’ll hear that parson hereafter every 
Sunday, rain or shine, if I have to fight my way into 
the church with a club.” 

A peculiar fire burned in the young man’s eyes, 
and his lips were very firm, but he made no reply. 
The Man whose portraiture he had beheld that day 
was a revelation, and he hoped that this divine yet 
human Friend might make a man of him. 

Well,” remarked Mr. Ainot, sententiously, “that 
sermon was a perfect bomb-shell ; and, mark my 
words, it will either blow the doctor out of his pulpit, 
or some of the first-class saints out of their pews.” 

But a serene and hopd'ul light shone from Mrs, 
Amot’s eyes, and she only said, in a low tone, 

“ The Lord is in his holy temple. ” 


FEEDING AN ANCIENT GRUDGE, 


355 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

MK. GRCWTHER FEEDS AN ANCXEOT GRUDGE. 
HE problem in regard to the future of St. Paul s 



JL Church, which had so greatly burdened Dr. 
Baistow, was substantially solved. Christ had ol>- 
tained control of the preacher’s heart, and hence- 
forth would not be a dogma, but a living presence, 
in his sermons. The Pharisees of old could not 
keep the multitudes from him, though their motives 
for following him were often very mixed. Although 
the philosophical Christ of theology, whom Dr. Bar- 
stow had ably preached, could not change the atmo- 
sphere of St. Paul’s, the Christ of the Bible, the 
Man of Sorrows, the meek and lowly Nazarene, 
could, and the masses would be tempted to feel that 
they had a better right in a place sacred to his wor- 
ship than those who resembled him in spirit as little 
as they did in the pomp of their life. 

There would be friction at first, and some serious 
trouble. Mr. Arnot’s judgment was correct, and 
some of the “ first-class saints” (in their own esti- 
mation) would be “ blown out of their pews.” St. 
Paul’s would eventually cease to be the fashionable 
Church par excellence ; and this fact alone would be 
good and sufficient reason for a change on the part 


356 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

of some who intend to be select in their associations 
on earth, whatever relations with the “ mixed mul- 
titude they may have to endure in heaven. But 
the warm-hearted and true-hearted would remain ; 
and every church grows stronger as the Pharisees 
depart and the publicans and sinners enter. 

The congregation that gathered at the even- 
ing service of the memorable Sabbath described 
in the previous chapter was prophetic. Many of 
the wealthy and aristocratic members were absent, 
either from habit or disgust. Haldane, Mr. Grow- 
ther, and many who in some respects resembled 
them, were present. “Jeems,” the discriminating 
sexton, had sagaciously guessed that the wind was 
about to blow from another quarter, and was veer- 
ing around also, as fast as he deemed it prudent. 
“Ordinary pussons ” received more than ordinary 
attention, and were placed within ear-shot of the 
speaker. 

But the problem of poor Haldane’s future was not 
clear by any means. It is true a desire to live a, 
noble life had been kindled in his heart, but as 
yet it was but little more than a good impulse, an 
aspiration. In the fact that his eyes had been 
turned questioningly and hopefully toward the only 
One who has ever been able to cope with the mys- 
tery of evil, there was rich promise ; but just what 
this divine Friend could do for him he understood 
as little as did the fishermen of Galilee. They looked 
for temporal change and glory ; he was looking 
for some vague and marvelous change and exalta- 
tion. 


FEEDING AN ANCIENT GRUDGE. 


357 


But the Sabbath passed, and he remained his old 
self. Hoping, longing for the change did not pro- 
duce it. 

It was one of Mr. Growther’s peculiarities to have 
a fire upon the hearth even when the evenings were 
50 warm as not to require it. Might as well kinder 
git ourselves used to heat,” he would growl when 
Haldane remonstrated. 

After the evening service they both lowered at 
the fire for some time in silence. 

“ Except ye be converted, and become as little 
children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of 
heaven,” had been Dr. Barstow’s text ; and, as is 
usually the case, the necessity of conversion had 
been made clearer than just what conversion is ; and 
many more than the disquieted occupants of the 
quaint old kitchen had been sent home sorely per- 
plexed how to set about the simple task of “ believ- 
ing.” But it was a happy thing for all that they 
had been awakened to the fact that something must 
be done. After that sermon none could delude 
themselves with the hope that being decorous, well- 
dressed worshipers at St. Paul’s would be all that 
was required. 

But Mr. Growther needed no argument on this 
subject, and he had long believed that his only 
chance was, as he expressed it, such an out-and- 
out shakin’ to pieces, and makin’ over agin that I 
wouldn’t know myself.” Then he would rub his 
rheumatic legs despondently and add, “But my 
speretual j’ints have got as stiff and dry as these 
old walkin’ pins ; and when I try to git up some 


358 knight op the nineteenth century. 

good sort o' feelin' it s like pumpin' of a dry pump 
I only feel real hearty when Fm a cussin*. A-a-h ! " 
But the day’s experience and teaching had awak- 
ened anew in his breast, as truly as in Haldane’s, 
the wish that he could be converted, whatever that 
blessed and mysterious change might be ; and so, 
with his wrinkled face seamed with deeper and more 
complex lines than usual, the poor old soul stared 
at the fire, which was at once the chief source of 
his comfort and the emblem of that which he most 
dreaded. At last he snarled, 

“ Fm a blasted old fool for goin’ to meetin’ and 
gittin’ all riled up so. Here, I haven’t had a com- 
fortable doze to-day, and I shall be kickin’ around 
all night with nothin’ runnin’ in my head but ‘ Ex- 
cept ye be convarted, except ye be convarted ; * 1 
wish I had as good a chance of bein’ convarted as I 
have of bein’ struck by lightnin’.” 

“ I wish I needed conversion as little as you,” said 
Haldane despondently. 

Now look here,” snapped the old man ; “ Fm in 
no mood for any nonsense to-night. I want you to 
know I never have been convarted, and I can prove 
it to you plaguy quick if you stroke me agin the 
fur. You’ve got the advantage of me in this busi- 
ness, though you have been a hard cuss ; for you are 
young and kind o’ limber yet.” Then, as he glanced 
at the discouraged youth, his manner changed, and 
in a tone that was meant to be kindly he added 
There, there ! Why don’t you pluck up heart ? 
If I was as young as you be. I’d get convarted if it 
took me all summer.” 


FEEDING AN ANCIENT GRUDGE. 


359 


Haldane shook his head, and after a moment slovvly 
and musingly said, as much to himself as to the 
giver of this good advice, 

** Fm in the Slough of Despond, and I don’t know 
how to get out. I can see the sunny uplands that I 
long to reach, but every thing is quaking and giving 
way under my feet. After listening to Dr. Barstow’s 
grand sermon this morning, my spirit flamed up 
hopefully. Now he has placed a duty directly in my 
path that I cannot perform by myself. Mrs. Arnot 
has made it clear to me that the manhood I need is 
Christian manhood. Dr. Barstow proves out of the 
Bible that the first step toward this is conversion, — 
which seems to be a mysterious change which I but 
vaguely understand. I must do my part myself, he 
says, yet I am wholly dependent on the will and 
co-operation of another. Just what am I to do? 
Just when and how will the help come in? How 
can I know that it will come ? or how can I ever be 
sure that I have been converted ? ” 

O, stop splittin’ hairs ! ” said Mr. Growther, test- 
fly. “ Hanged if I can tell you how it’s all goin’ to 
be brought about, — go ask the parson to clear up 
these p’ints for you, — but I can tell you this much: 
when you git convarted you’ll know it. If you had 
a ragin’ toothache, and it suddenly stopped and you 
felt comfortable all over, wouldn’t you know it? 
But that don’t express it. You’d feel more’n com- 
fortable ; you’d feel so good you couldn’t hold in. 
You’d be fur shoutin’ ; you wouldn’t know yourself. 
Why, doesn’t the Bible say you’d be a new critter? 
There’ll be just such a change in your heart as there 


36 o knight of the nineteenth century. 

is in this old kitchen when we come in on a cold, 
dark night and light the candles, and kindle a fire. 
I tell you what ’tis, young man, if you once got con- 
varted your troubles would be well-nigh over.” 

Though the picture of this po::,sible future was 
drawn in such homely lines, Haldane looked at it with 
wistful eyes. He had become accustomed to his 
benefactor’s odd ways and words, and caught his 
sense beneath the grotesque imagery. As he was 
then situated, the future drawn by the old man and 
interpreted by himself was peculiarly attractive. He 
was very miserable, and it is most natural, especially 
for the young, to wish to be happy. He had been 
led to believe that conversion would lead to a hap- 
piness as great as it was mysterious, — a sort of mi- 
raculous ecstasy, that would render him oblivious of 
the hard and prosaic conditions of his lot. Through 
misfortune and his own fault he possessed a very 
defective character. This character had been formed, 
it is true, by years of self-indulgence and wrong, and 
Mrs. Arnot had asserted that reform would require 
long, patient, and heroic effort. Indeed, she had 
suggested that in fighting and subduing the evils 
of one’s own nature a man attained the noblest de- 
gree of knighthood. He had already learned how 
severe was the conflict in which he had been led 
to engage. 

But might not this mysterious conversion make 
things infinitely easier ? If a great and radical change 
were suddenly wrought in his moral nature, would 
not evil appetites and propensities be uprooted like 
vile weeds If a “new heart” were given him, 


FEEDING AN ANCIENT GRUDGE. 361 

would not the thoughts and desires flowing from it 
be like pure water from an unsullied spring? After 
the old things ” — that is the evil — had passed 
away, would not that which was noble and good 
spring up naturally, and almost spontaneously? 

This was Mr. Growther’s view ; and he had long 
since learned that the old man's opinions were sound 
on most questions. This seemed, moreover, the 
teaching of the Bible also, and of such sermons as 
he could recall. And yet it caused him some mis- 
givings that Mrs. Arnot had not indicated more 
clearly this short-cut out of his difficulties. 

But Mr. Growther’s theology carried the day. 
As he watched the young man’s thoughtful face he 
thought the occasion ripe for the ** word in season.” 

“Now is the time,” he said; “now while yei 
moral j’ints is limber. What’s the use of climbin’ 
the mountain on your hands and knees when you 
can go up in a chariot of fire, if you can only git in 
it ? ” and he talked and urged so earnestly that Hal- 
dane smiled and said, 

“ Mr. Growther, you have mistaken your voca- 
tion. You ought to have been a missionary to the 
heathen.” 

“That would be sendin’ a thief to ketch a thief. 
•But you know I’ve a grudge agin the devil, if I do 
belong to him ; and if I could help git you out of 
his clutches it would do me a sight o’ good.” 

“ If I ever do get out I shall indeed have to thank 
you.” 

“ I don’t want no thanks, and don’t desarve any 
You’re only giving me a chance to hit the adversary 
16 


362 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

'twixt the eyes, and the old man added his charac- 
teristic A-a-h ! in an emphatic and vengeful man- 
ner, as if he would like to hit very hard. 

Human nature was on the side of Mr. Growtheris 
view of conversion. Nothing is more common than 
the delusive hope that health, shattered by years of 
willful wrong, can be regained by the use of some 
highly extolled drug, or by a few deep draughts from 
some far-famed spring. 

Haldane retired to rest fully bent upon securing 
this vague and mighty change as speedily as possible, 


HOPING FOR A MIRACLE. 


363 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

HOPING FOR A MIRACLE. 

M r. IVISON, Haldane’s employer, was a wor- 
shiper at St. Paul’s, and, like many others, 
had been deeply impressed by the sermon. Its in- 
fluence had not wholly exhaled by Monday, and, as 
this gentleman was eminently practical, he felt that 
he ought to do something, as well as experience a 
little emotion. Thus he was led to address the fol- 
lowing note to Haldane : 

Last week I gave you a chance ; this week I am induced to give 
you a good word. While I warn you that I will tolerate no weak 
dallying with your old temptations, I also tell you that I would like 
to see you make a man of yourself, or, more correctly, perhaps, as 
Dr. Barstow would express it, be made a man of. If one wants to 
do right, I believe there is help for him (go and ask the Rev. Dr. 
Barstow’ about this) ; and if you will go right straight ahead till I see 
you can be depended upon, I will continue to speak good words to 
you and for you, and perhaps do more. 

George Ivison. 

This note greatly encouraged Haldane, and made 
his precarious foot-hold among the world’s industrie.s 
seem more firm" and certain. The danger of being 
swept back into the deep water where those struggle 
who have no foot-hold, no work, no place in society 
would not come from the caprice or forgetfulness of 


364 knight of the nineteenth century. 

his employer, but from his own peculiar temptations 
and weaknesses. If he could patiently do his duty 
in his present humble position, he justly believed 
that it would be the stepping-stone to something 
better But, having learned to know himself, he was 
afraid of himself ; and he had seen with an infinite 
dread what cold, dark depths yawn about one whom 
society shakes off as a vile and venomous thing, and 
who must eventually take evil and its consequences 
as his only portion. The hot, reeking apartment 
wherein he toiled was the first solid ground that he 
had felt beneath his feet for many days. If he could 
hold that footing, the water might shoal so that he 
could reach the land. It is true he could always 
look to his mother for food and clothing if he would 
comply with her conditions. But, greatly perverted 
as his nature had been, food and clothing, the main- 
tenance of a merely animal life, could no longer satisfy 
him. He had thought too deeply, and had seen too 
much truth, to feed contentedly among the swine. 

But the temptations which eventually lead to the 
swine — could he persistently resist these? Could he 
maintain a hard, monotonous routine of toil, with 
no excitements, no pleasures, with nothing that even 
approached happiness? He dared not give way; he 
doubted his strength to go forward alone with such 
a prospect. If conversion be a blessed miracle by 
which a debased nature is suddenly lifted up, and a 
harsh, lead-colored, prosaic world transfigured into 
the vestibule of heaven, he longed to witness it in 
his own experience. 

It was while he was in this mood that his thoughts 


HOPING FOR A MIRACLE. 365 

recurred to Dr. Marks, the good old clergyman who 
had been the subject of his rude, practical joke 
months before. He recalled the sincere, fr^ank letter 
which led to their evening interview, and remem- 
bered with a thrill of hope the strong and mysteri- 
ous emotion that had seized upon him as the vener- 
able man took his hand in his warm grasp, and said 
in tones of pathos that shook his soul, wish I 
could lead you by loving force into the paths of plea- 
santness and peace.'’ Wild and reckless fool as he 
then was, it had been only by a decided effort and 
abrupt departure that he had escaped the heavenly 
influences which seemed to brood in the quiet study 
where the good man prayed and spun the meshes of 
the nets which he daily cast for souls. If he could 
visit that study again with a receptive heart, might 
not the emotion that he had formerly resisted rise 
like a flood, and sweep away his old miserable self, 
and he become in truth a “ new creature ” ? 

The thought, having been once entertained, speed- 
ily grew into a hope, and then became almost a cer- 
tainty. He felt that he would much rather see Dr. 
Marks than Dr. Barstow, and that if he could feel 
that kind, warm grasp again, an impulse might be 
given him which even Mrs. Arnot’s wise and gentle 
words could not inspire. 

Before the week was over, he felt that something 
must be done either to soften his hard lot or to give 
him strength to endure it. 

The men, boys, and girls who worked at his side 
in the mill were in their natures like their garb, 
coarse and soiled. They resented the presence of 


366 KN1GH7' OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


Haldane for a twofold reason ; they regarded the in- 
trusion of a “ jail-bird ” among them in the light of 
an insult ; they were still more annoyed, and per- 
plexed also, that this disreputable character made 
them feel that he was their superior. Hence a sys- 
tem of petty persecution grew up. Epithets were 
flung at him, and practical jokes played upon him 
till his heart boiled with anger or his nerves were 
irritated to the last degree of endurance. More than 
once his fist was clenched to strike ; but he remem- 
bered in time that the heavier the blow he struck, 
the more disastrously it would react against himself. 

After the exasperating experiences and noise 
of the day, Mr. Growther’s cottage was not the 
quiet refuge he needed. Mr. Growther’s growl was 
chronic, and it rasped on Haldane’s overstrained 
nerves like the filing of a saw. Dr. Barstow’s ser- 
mons of the previous Sabbath had emphatically 
“riled” the old gentleman, and their only result, 
apparently, was to make him more out-pf-sorts and 
vindictive toward his poor, miserable little self than 
ever. He was so irascible that even the comfortable 
cat and dog became aware that something unusual 
was amiss, and, instead of dozing securely, they 
learned to keep a wary and deprecatory eye on theii 
master and the toes of his thick-soled slippers. 

“ I’ve been goin’ On like a darned old porkerpine, ’ 
he said to Haldane one evening, “ and if you don’t 
git convarted soon you’d better git out of my way. 
If you was as meek as Moses and twice as good you 
couldn’t stand me much longer ; ” and the poor fellow 
^elt that there was considerable truth in the remark. 


HOPING FOR A MIRACLE, 


367 

The mill closed at an earlier hour on Saturday 
afternoon, and he determined to visit Dr. Marks if 
he could obtain permission from his employer to be 
absent a few hours on Monday morning. He wrote 
a note to Mr. Ivison, cordially thanking him foi 
his encouraging words, but adding, frankly, that he 
could make no promises in regard to himself. “ All 
that I can say, is,” he wrote, “ that I am trying to 
do right now, and that I am grateful to you for the 
chance you have given me. I wish to get the *■ help * 
you suggest in your note to me, but, in memory 
of certain relations to my old pastor. Dr. Marks, I 
would rather see him than Dr. Barstow, and if you 
will permit me to be absent a part of next Monday 
forenoon I will esteem it a great favor, and will tres- 
pass on your kindness no further. I can go after 
mill-hours on Saturday, and will return by the first 
train on Monday.” 

Mr. Ivison readily granted the request, and even 
became somewhat curious as to the result. 

When Mrs. Arnot had learned from Haldane the 
nature of, his present employment, she had experi- 
enced both pleasure and misgivings. That he was 
willing to take and try to do such work rather than 
remain idle, or take what he felt would be charity, 
proved that there was more good metal in his com- 
position than she had even hoped ; but she naturally 
felt that the stinging annoyances of his position 
would soon become intolerable. She was not sur- 
prised, although she was somewhat perplexed, at 
the receipt of the following letter ; 


368 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

f 

-;v My dkar Mrs. Arnot. — You have been such a true, kind friend 
to me, and have shown so much interest in my welfare, that I am 
led to give you a fuller insight into my present experiences and 
hopes. You know that I wish to be a Christian. You have made 
Christian manhood seem the 'most desirable thing that I can ever 
possess, but I make little or no progress toward it. Something must 
be done, and quickly too. Either there must be a great change in 
me, or else in my circumstances. As there is no immediate prospect 
of the latter, I have been led to hope that there can be such a change 
in me that I shall be lifted above and made superior to the exasper- 
ating annoyances of my condition. Yes, I am hoping even far more. 
If I could only experience the marvelous change which Dr. Barstow 
described so eloquently last Sunday evening, might I not do right 
easily and almost spontaneously ? It is so desperately hard to do 
right now ! If conversion will render my steep, thorny path infi- 
nitely easier, then surely I ought to seek this change by every means 
in my power. Indeed, there must be a change in me, or I shall lose 
even the foot-hold I have gained. I am subjected, all day long, to 
insult and annoyance. At times I am almost desperate and on the 
verge of recklessness. Every one of the coarse creatures that I am 
compelled to work with is a nettle that loses no chance to sting me ; 
and there is one among them, a big, burly fellow, who is so offensive 
that I cannot keep my hands off him much longer if I remain my old 
self. You also know what a reception I must ever expect in the 
streets when I am recog nized. The people act as if I were some sort 
of a reptile, which they must tolerate at large, but can, at least, shun 
with looks of aversion. And then, when I get to Mr. Growther’s 
cottage I do not find much respite. It seems like ingratitude to 
write this, but the good old man’s eccentric habit of berating himself 
and the world in general has grown wearisome, to say the least. I 
want to be lifted out of myself, — far above these petty vexatious and 
my own miserable weaknesses. 

Once, before I left home, I played a rude joke on our good old 
pastor. Instead of resenting it he wrote me such a kind letter that 
I went to his study to apologize. While there his manner and words 
were such that I had to break away to escape a sudden and mysteri- 
ous influence that inclined me toward all that is good. I have hoped 
that if I should visit him I might come under that influence again, 
and so be made a new and better man. 

I have also another motive, which you will understand. Mother 


HOPING FOR A MIRACLE. 


369 


ani I differ widely on many things, and always will ; but T long to 
see her once more. I have been thinking of late of her many kind* 
nesses — O that she had been less kind, less indulgent ! But she can- 
not help the past any more than I can, and it may do us both good 
to meet once more. I do not think that she will refuse to see me 
or give me shelter for a few hours, even though her last letter seemed 
harsh. 

I shall also be glad to escape for a few hours from my squalid 
ftnd wretched surroundings. The grime of the sordid things with 
which I have so long been in contact seems eating into my very soul, 
and I long to sleep once more in my clean, airy room at home. 

But I am inflicting myself too long upon you. That I have ven- 
tured to do so is due to your past kindness, which I can only wonder 
at, but cannot explain. Gratefully yours, 

E. Haldane. 

Mrs. Arnot was more than curious ; she was deep- 
ly interested in the result of this visit, and she 
hoped and prayed earnestly that it might result 
in good. But she had detected an element in the 
young man’s letter which caused her considerable 
uneasiness. His idea of conversion was a sudden 
and radical change in character that would be a sort 
of spiritual magic, contravening all the natural laws 
of growth and development. He was hoping to 
escape from his evil habits and weaknesses, which 
were of long growth, as the leper escaped from his 
disease, by a healing and momentary touch. He 
would surely be disappointed : might he not also be 
discouraged, and give up the patient and prayerful 
struggle which the sinful must ever wage against 
sin in this world ? She trusted, however, that God 
had commenced a good work in his heart, and 
would finish it. 

Even the sight of his native city, with its spires 
glistening in the setting sun, moved Haldane deeply ; 

1 6* 


370 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

and when in the dusk he left the train, and walked 
once more through the familiar streets, his heart 
was crowded with pleasant and bitter memories, 
which naturally produced a softened and receptive 
mood. 

He saw many well-remembered faces, and a few 
glanced at him as if he suggested one whom they 
had known. But he kept his hat drawn over his 
eyes, and, taking advantage of the obscurity of the 
night, escaped recognition. 

“ It is almost like coming back after one has died,'’ 
he said to himself. “ I once thought myself an im- 
portant personage in this town, but it has got on 
better without me than it would have done with me. 
Truly, Mrs. Arnot is right, — it’s little the world 
cares for any one, and the absurdest of all blunders 
is to live for its favor.” 

It was with a quickly beating heart that he rang 
the bell at the parsonage, and requested to be shown 
up to Dr. Marks’ study. Was this the supreme mo- 
ment of his life, and he on the eve of that myste- 
rious, spiritual change, of which he had heard so 
much, and the results of which would carry him 
along as by a steady, mighty impulse through earth’s 
trials to heaven’s glory? He fairly trembled at the 
thought. 

The girl who had admitted him pointed to the 
open study door, and he silently crossed its thresh- 
old. The good old clergyman was bending over his 
sermon, to which he was giving his finishing touches, 
and the soft rays of the student’s lamp made his 
white hair seem like a halo about his head. 


HOPING FOR A MIRACLE, 


The sacred quiet of the place was disturbed only 
by the quill of the writer, who was penning words 
as unworldly as himself. Another good old divine, 
with his Bible in his hand, looked down benignantly 
and encouragingly at the young man from his black- 
walnut frame. He was the sainted predecessor of 
Dr. Marks, and the sanctity of his life of prayer and 
holy toil also lingered in this study. Old volumes 
and heavy tomes gave to it the peculiar odor which 
we associate with the cloister, and suggested the 
prolonged spiritual musings of the past, which are 
so out of vogue in the hurried, practical world of 
to-day. This study was, indeed, a quiet nook, — a 
little, slowly moving eddy left far behind by the 
dashing, foaming current of modern life ; and Hal- 
dane felt impressed that he had found the hallowed 
place, the true Bethel, where his soul might be born 
anew. 


372 


KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE MIRACLE TAKES PLACE. 

HE body of my sermon is finished ; may the 



i Lord breathe into it the breath of life ! eja- 
culated Dr. Marks, leaning back in his chair. 

Haldane now secured his attention by knocking 
lightly on the open door. The old gentleman arose 
and came forward with the ordinary kindly manner 
with which he would greet a stranger. 

You do not remember me,” said Haldane. 

“ I cannot say that I do. My eyesight is not as 
good as when I was at your age.” 

“ I am also the last one you expect to see, but I 
trust I shall not be unwelcome when you know my 
motive for coming. I am Egbert Haldane, and I 
have hoped that your study would remain open, 
though nearly all respectable doors are closed against 
me ” 

“ Egbert Haldane ! Can I believe my eyes ? ” ex- 
claimed the old clergyman, stepping eagerly forward. 

** When last in this place,” continued the youth, 
“ I was led by your generous forgiveness of my rude 
behavior toward you to say. that if I ever wished to 
become a Christian I would come to you sooner than 


THE MIRACLE TAKES PLACE, 


373 

to any one else. I have come, for I wish to be a 
Christian.” 

‘‘Now the Lord be praised! He has heard his 
servant’s prayers,” responded Dr. Marks fervently. 
“ My study is open to you, my son, and my heart, 
too, he added, taking Haldane’s hand in both of his 
with a grasp that emphasized his cordial words. 
“ Sit down by me here, and tell me all that is on 
your mind.” 

This reception was so much kinder than he had 
even hoped, that Haldane was deeply moved. The 
strong, genuine sympathy unsealed his lips, and in 
honest and impetuous words he told the whole story 
of his life since their last interview. The good doc- 
tor was soon fumbling for his handkerchief, and as 
the story culminated, mopped his eyes, and ejacu- 
lated, “ Poor fellow ! ” with increasing frequency. 

“ And now,” concluded Haldane, “ if I could only 
think that God would receive me as you have, — if 
he would only change me from my miserable self to 
what I know I ought to be, and long to be, — I feel 
that I could serve him with gratitude and gladness 
the rest of my life, even though I should remain in 
the humblest station ; and I have come to ask you 
what I am to do ? ” 

“ He will receive you, my boy ; he will receive 
you. No fears on that score,” said the doctor, with 
a heartiness that carried conviction. “ But don’t ask 
me what to do. I’m not going to interfere in the 
Lord’s work. He is leading you. If you wanted 
a text or a doctrine explained I’d venture to give 
you my views; but in this vital matter I shall leave 


374 knight of the nineteenth century. 

you m God’s hands, * being confident of this very 
thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you 
will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.* I once 
set about reforming you myself, and you know what 
a bungle I made of it. Now I believe the Lord has 
taken you in hand, and I shall not presume to med- 
dle. Bow with me in prayer that he may speedily 
bring you into his marvelou§^ light and knowledge.* 
And the good man knelt and spread his hands to- 
ward heaven, and prayed with the simplicity and 
undoubting faith of an ancient patriarch. 

Was his faith contagious? Did the pathos of his 
voice, his strongly manifested sympathy, combine 
with all that had gone before to melt the young 
man’s heart ? Or, in answer to the prayer, was 
there present One whose province it is to give life ? 
Like the wind that mysteriously rises and comes to- 
ward one with its viewless, yet distinctly felt power. 
Haldane was conscious of influences at work in 
his heart that were as potent as they were incom- 
prehensible. Fear and doubt were passing away. 
Deep emotion thrilled his soul. Nothing was dis- 
tinct save a rush of feeling which seemed to lift 
him up as on a mighty tide, and bear hfm heaven- 
ward. 

This was what he had sought ; this was what he had 
hoped ; this strong, joyous feeling, welling up in his 
heart like a spring leaping into the sunlight, must be 
conversion. 

When he arose from his knees his eyes were full 
of tears, but a glad radiance shone through them, 
and, grasping the doctor’s hand, he said brokenly, 


THE MIRACLE TAKES PLACE. 


375 

“ I believe your prayer has been answered. I 
never felt so strangely — so happy before.” 

“ Come with me,” cried the old man, impetuously, 
“ come with me. Your mother must learfl at once 
that her son, who ‘ was dead, is alive again ; * ” and 
a few moments later Haldane was once more in the 
low carriage, on his way, with the enthusiastic doc- 
tor, to his old home. 

We won’t permit ourselves to be announced,” 
said the childlike old clergyman as they drove up 
the graveled road. “ We will descend upon your 
mother and sisters like an avalanche of happiness.” 

The curtains in the sitting-room were not drawn, 
and the family group was before them. The apart- 
ment was furnished with elegance and taste, but 
the very genius of dreariness seemed to brood over 
its occupants. The somber colors of their mourning 
dresses seemed a part of the deep shadow that was 
resting upon them, and the depth and gloom of the 
shadow was intensified by their air of despondency 
and the pallor of their faces. The younger daughter 
was reading, but the elder and the mother held their 
hands listlessly in their laps, and their eyes were 
fixed on vacancy, after the manner of those whose 
thoughts are busy with painful themes. 

Haldane could endure but a brief glance, and 
rushed in, exclaiming. 

Mother, forgive me ! ” 

His presence was so unexpected and his onset so 
impetuous that the widow had no time to consider 
what kind of a reception she ought to give her way- 
ward son, of whcm she had washed her hands. 


376 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

Her mother-love triumphed ; her heart had long 
been sore with grief, and she returned his embrace 
with equal heartiness. 

His sis^rs, however, had inherited more of their 
mother’s conventionality than of her heart ; and the 
fact that this young man was their brother did not 
by any means obliterate from their minds the other 
fact’s, that he had a very bad reputation and that he 
was abominably dressed. Their greeting, therefore, 
was rather grave and constrained, and suggested 
that there might have been a death in the family, 
and that their brother had come home to attend the 
funeral. 

But the unworldly Dr. Marks was wholly absorbed 
in the blessed truth that the dead was alive and 
the lost found. He had followed Haldane into the 
apartment, rubbing his hands, and beaming general 
congratulation. Believing that the serene light of 
Heaven’s favor rested on the youth, he had forgot- 
ten that it would be long before society relaxed its 
dark frown. It seemed to him that it was an occa- 
sion for great and unmixed rejoicing. 

After some brief explanations had been given to 
the bewildered household, the doctor said : 

“ My dear madam, I could not deny myself the 
pleasure of coming with your son, that I might re- 
joice with you. The Lord has answered our pray- 
ers, you see, and you have reason to be the happiest 
woman living.” 

“I am glad, indeed,” sighed the widow, “that 
some light is beginning to shine through this dark and 
mysterious providence, for it has been so utterly 


THE MIRACLE TAKES PLACE. 


377 

dark and full of mystery that my faith was beginning 
to waver/’ 

“ The Lord will not suffer you to be tempted 
above th?t you are able,” said the clergyman, heart- 
ily. “ When relief is essential it comes, and it al- 
ways will come, rest assured. Take comfort, ma- 
dam ; nay, let your heart overflow with joy without 
fear. The Lord means well by this young man. 
Take the unspeakable blessing he sends you with 
the gladness and gratitude of a child receiving gifts 
from a good Father’s hands. Since he has begun 
the good work, he’ll finish it.” 

“ I hope so. I do, indeed, hope that Egbert will 
now come to his senses, and see things and duty in 
their true light, as other people do,” ejaculated the 
widow, fervently. “ If he had only taken the excel- 
lent advice you first gave him here, how much better 
it would have been for us all! But now — ” A 
dreary sigh closed the sentence. 

‘‘ But now,” responded the doctor, a little warmly, 
“ the Lord has saved a soul from death, and that 
soul is your only son. It appears to me that this 
thought should swallow up every other ; and it will, 
when you realize it,” he concluded, heartily. ' “ This 
world and the fashion of it passeth away. Since all 
promises well for the world to come, you have only 
cause for joy. As for my excellent advice, I was 
better pleased with it at the time than the Lord was. 
I now am thankful that he let it do no more harm 
than it did.” 

“We cannot help the past, mother, said Hal- 
dane, eagerly, “ let us turn our eyes to the future, 


378 KNIGHT CF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

which is all aglow with hope. I feel that God has 
forgiven me, and the thought fills my heart with a 
tumult of joy. Your warm embrace assures me that 
you have also forgiven the wrong, the shame, and 
sorrow you have received at my hands. Henceforth 
it shall be my life-effort that you receive the reverse 
of all this. I at last feel within me the power to live 
as a true man ought.” 

I trust your hopes maybe realized, Egbert; I 
do, indeed ; but you were so confident before — and 
then we all know what followed,” concluded his mo- 
ther, with a shudder. 

“ My present feeling, my present motives, in no 
respect resemble my condition when I started out 
before. I was then a conceited fool, ignorant of 
myself, the world, and the task I had attempted. 
But now I feel that all is different. Mother,” he ex- 
claimed with a rush of emotion, “ I feel as if heaven 
had almost begun in my heart ! why, then, do you 
cloud this bright hour with doubts and fears ? ” 

“ Well, my son, we will hope for the best,” said his 
mother, endeavoring to throw off her despondency, 
and share in the spirit which animated her pastor. 
“ But I have dwelt so long in -sorrow and foreboding 
that it will require time before I can recover my old 
natural tone. These sudden and strong alternations 
of feeling and action on your part puzzle and dis- 
quiet me, and I cannot see why one brought up ag 
you have been should not maintain a quiet, well- 
bred deportment, and do right as a matter of course, 
as your sisters do. And yet, if Dr. Marks truly 
thinks that you mean to do right from this time for* 


THE MIRACLE TAKES PLACE. 


379 


ward, I shall certainly take courage ; though how 
we are going to meet what has already occurred I 
hardly see.” 

I do, indeed, believe that your son intends to do 
right, and I also believe that the Lord intends to 
help him — which is of far greater consequence,” said 
Dr. Marks. “ I will now bid you good-night, as to- 
morrow is the Sabbath ; and let me entreat you, my 
dear madam, in parting, to further by your prayer 
and sympathy the good work which the Lord has 
begun.” 

Haldane insisted on seeing the old gentleman 
safely back to his study. Their ride was a rather 
quiet one, each being busy with his own thoughts. 
The good man had found his enthusiasm strangely 
quenched in the atmosphere in which Mrs. Haldane 
dwelt, and found that, in spite of himself, he was 
sharing in her doubts and fears as to the future 
course of the erratic and impulsive youth at his side. 
He blamed himself for this, and tried to put doubt 
resolutely away. By a few earnest words he sought 
to show the young man that only as the grace of 
God was daily asked for and daily received could he 
hope to maintain the Christian life. 

He now began to realize what a difficult problem 
was before the youth. Society would be slow to 
give him credit for changed motives and character, 
and as proof would take only patient continuance in 
well-doing. The good doctor now more than sus- 
pected that in his own home Haldane would find 
much that was depressing and enervating. Worse 
than all he would have to contend with an excitable 


380 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

f 

and ungoverned nature, already sadly warped and 
biased wrongly. ‘^What will be the final result?” 
sighed the old gentleman to himself. But he soon 
fell back hopefully on his belief that the Lord had 
begun a good work and would finish it. 

Haldane listened attentively and gratefully to all 
that his old friend had to say, and felt sure that he 
could and would follow the advice given. Never 
before had right living seemed so attractive, and the 
path of duty so luminous. But the thought that 
chiefly filled him with joy was that henceforth he 
would not be compelled to plod forward as a weary 
pilgrim. He felt that he had wings ; some of the 
divine strength had been given him. He believed 
himself changed, renewed, transformed ; he was con- 
fident that his old self had perished and passed away 
and that, as a new creature, ennobling tendencies 
would control him completely. He felt that prayer 
would henceforth be as natural as breathing, and 
praise and worship, the strong and abiding instincts 
of his heart. 


VOTARIES VF THE WORLD. 


38 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

VOTARIES OF THE WORLD. 

W HEN Haldane returned he found that his 
sisters had retired. He was not sorry, for he 
wished a long and unrestrained talk with his mother ; 
but that lady pleaded that the events of the evening 
had so unnerved her, and that there was so much to 
be considered, that she must have quiet. In the 
morning they would try to realize their situation, 
and decide upon the best course to be pursued. 

Even in his exaltation the last suggestion struck 
Haldane unpleasantly. Might not his mother mark 
out, and take as a test of his sincerity, some course 
that would accord with her ideas of right, but not 
with his ? But the present hour was so full of mys- 
tical and inexplicable happiness that he gave him- 
self up to it, believing that the divine hands, in 
which he believed himself to be, would provide for 
him as a helpless child is cared for. 

The mill-people among whom he had worked the 
previous week would scarcely have recognized him 
as he came down to breakfast the following morning, 
dressed with taste and elegance. It was evident 
that his sisters could endure him with better grace 
than when clad in his coarse, working garb, redolent 


382 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

with the hitherto unimagined odors pertaining to 
well-oiled machinery. They, with his mother, greeted 
him, however, with the air of those who are in the 
midst of the greatest misfortunes, but who hope they 
see a coming ray of light. 

With their sincere but conventional ideas of life he 
was, in truth, a difficult problem. Nor can they be 
very greatly blamed. This youth, who might have 
been their natural protector against every scandal- 
ous and contemptuous word, and whose arm it 
would have been their pride to take before the 
world, had now such a reputation that only an affec- 
tion all-absorbing and unselfish would be willing to 
brave the curious and scornful stare that follows one 
who had been so disgraced. Mrs. Haldane and her 
daughters were not without natural affection, but 
they were morbidly sensitive to public opinion. 
Like many who live somewhat secluded from the 
world, they imagined that vague and dreaded entity 
was giving them much more attention than it did. 

What will people say ? ” was a terrible question to 
them. 

Nothing could be farther from their nature than 
an attempt to attract the world’s attention by loud 
manners or flaunting dress ; but it was essential to 
their peace that good society should regard them as 
eminently respectable, aristocratic, and high-toned 
— as a family far removed from vulgar and ordina- 
ry humanity. That their name, in the person of a 
son and brother, had been dragged through courts, 
criminal records, and jails, was an unparalleled dis- 
aster, that grew more overwhelming as they brooded 


VOTARIES OF THE WORLD, 


383 

over it. It seemed to them that the world’s great 
eye was turned full upon them in scorn and wonder, 
and that only by maintaining their perfect seclusion, 
or by hiding among strangers, could they escape its 
cruel glare. 

After all, their feelings were only morbid develop- 
ments of the instincts of a refined womanly nature; 
but the trouble was, they had not the womanly 
largeness of heart and affection which would have 
made them equal to the emergency, however pain- 
ful. Poor Mrs. Haldane was one of those unfor- 
tunate people who always fall below the occasion ; 
indeed, she seldom realized it. Providence had now 
given her a chance to atone for much of her former 
weakness and ruinous indulgence, but her little mind 
was chiefly engrossed with the question. What can 
we do to smooth matters over, and regain something 
like our old standing in society ? As the result of a 
long consultation with her daughters, it was con- 
cluded that their best course was to go abroad. 
There they could venture out with him who was the 
skelton of the household, without having every one 
turn and look after them with all kinds of comment 
upon their lips. After several years in Europe they 
hoped society would be inclined to forget and over* 
look the miserable record of the past few months. 

That the young man himself would offer opposi- 
tion to the plan, and prefer to return to the scene 
of his disgrace, and to his sordid toil, did not enter 
their minds. 

In the enthusiasm of his new-born faith Haldane 
had determined to face the public gaze, and hear 


384 knight of the nineteenth century. 

Dr. Marks preach. It is true, he had greatly dreaded 
the ordeal — and for his mother and sisters, far more 
than for himself. When he began to intimate 
something of this feeling his mother promptly mo- 
tioned to the waitress to withdraw from the room. 
He then soon learned that they had not attended 
church since Mrs. Haldane’s return from her memor- 
able visit to Hillaton, and that they had no intention 
of going to-day. 

** The very thought makes me turn faint and sick/’ 
said the poor, weak gentlewoman. 

We should feel like sinking through the floor of 
the aisle,” chorused the pallid young ladies. 

Haldane ceased partaking of his breakfast at once, 
and leaned back in his chair. 

“ Do you mean to say,” he asked gloomily, “ that 
my folly has turned this house into a tomb, and that 
you will bury yourselves here indefinitely ? ” 

** Well,” sighed the mother, “ if we live this wretch- 
ed life of seclusion, brooding over our troubles much 
longer, smaller tombs will suffice us. You see that 
your sisters are beginning to look like ghosts, and 
I’m sure I feel that I can never lift up my head 
again. I know it is said that time works wonders. 
Perhaps if we went abroad for a few years, and then 
resided in some other city, or in the seclusion of 
some quiet country place, we might escape this — ” 
and Mrs. Haldane finished with a sigh that was far 
worse than any words could have been. After a 
moment she concluded : “ But, of course, we cannot 
go out here, where all that has happened is so fresh, 
and uppermost in every one’s mind. The more T 


VOTARIES OF THE WORLD, 


385 

think of it, the more decided I am that the best 
thing for us all is to go to some quiet watering-place 
in Europe, where there are but few, if any, Ameri- 
cans ; and in time we may feel differently.” 

Her son ate no more breakfast. He was begin- 
ning to realize, as he had not before, that he was in 
a certain sense a corpse, which this decorous and 
exquisitely refined family could not bury, but would 
hide as far as possible. 

“ You then expect me to go with you to Europe?” 
he said. 

** Certainly. We could not go without a gentle- 
man.” 

“ That I scarcely am now, mother, in your esti- 
mation or in society’s. I think you could get on 
better without me.” 

“ Now, Egbert, be sensible.” 

‘‘What am I to do in this secluded European 
watering-place, where there are no Americans, and 
at which we are to sojourn indefinitely?” 

“ I am sure I have not thought. Your sisters, at 
least, can venture out and get a breath of fresh air. 
It is time you thought of them rather than of your- 
self. You could amuse yourself with the natives, or 
by fishing and hunting.” 

“ Mother ! ” he exclaimed, impetuously, “ I no 
longer desire to merely amuse myself. I wish to 
become a man, in the best sense of the word.” 

Mrs. Haldane evidently experienced a disagiee- 
able nervous shock at the sudden intensity of his 
manner, but she said, with rebuking quietness, 

“ I am sure I wish you to become such a man, 
17 


386 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

thoroughly well bred, and thoroughly under self-con- 
trol. It is my purpose to enable you to appear 
like a perfect gentleman from this time forward, and 
I expect that you will be one.” 

‘‘What will I be but a well-dressed nonentity? 
what will I be but a coward, seeking to get away 
as far as possible from the place of my defeat, and 
to hide from its consequences?” he answered, with 
sharp, bitter emphasis. 

“ Egbert, your tendency to exaggeration and vio- 
lent speech is more than I can bear in my weak, 
nervous condition. When you have thought this 
matter over calmly, and have realized how I and 
your sisters feel, you will see that we are right — 
that is, if Dr. Marks is correct, and you do really 
wish to atone for the past as far as it now can be 
done.' 

The young man paced restlessly up ^...id down the 
room in an agitated manner, which greatly disqui- 
eted his mother and sisters. 

“ Can you not realize,” he at last burst out, “ that 
I, also, have a conscience ? that I am no longer a 
child ? and that I cannot see things as you do ? ” 

“ Egbert,” exclaimed his elder sister, lifting her 
hand deprecatingly, “we are not deaf.” i 

“ If you will only follow your conscience,” con- 
tinued Mrs. Haldane, in her low monotone, “ all will 
be well. It is your being carried away by gusts of 
impulse and violent passions that makes all the 
trouble. If you had followed your conscience you 
would have at once left Hillaton at my request, and 
hidden yourself in the seclusion that I indicated 


VOTARIES OF THE WORLD. 387 

If you had done so, you might have saved yourself 
and us from all that has since occurred.” 

“ But I would have lost my self-respect. I should 
have done worse — ” 

Self-respect ! ” interrupted his mother, with an 
expression akin to disgust flitting across her pale 
face. “ How can you use that word after what has 
happened, and especially now that you are working 
among those vulgar factory people, and living with 
that profane old creature who goes by the name of 
‘ Jerry Growler.* To think that you, who bear your 
father’s name, should have fallen so low ! The daily 
and hourly mortification of thinking of all this, here, 
where for so many years there was not a speck upon 
our family reputation, is more than flesh and blood 
can endure. Our only course now is to go away 
where we are not known. Our best hope is to make 
you appear like what your father meant you should be, 
and try to forget that you have been any thing else ; 
and if you have any sense of obligation to us left 
you will do what you can to carry out our efforts. 
Dr. Marks thinks you have met with ‘ a change of 
heart.’ I am sure you can prove it in no better way 
than by a docile acquiescence in the wishes of one 
who has a natural right to control you, and whose 
teachings,” she added complacently, “ had they been 
followed, would have enabled you to hold up your 
head to-day among the proudest in the land.” 

Haldane buried his face in his hands, and fairly 
groaned, in his disappointment and sense of humilia- 
tion. 

Is it possible,” asked one of his sisters that 


388 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

you thought that we could all go out to church to- 
day as usual, and commence life to-morrow where 
we left off when you first went away from home ? ” 

‘‘ I expected nothing of the kind,” said her brother 
lifting up a face that was pale from suppressed feel- 
ing; “ the fact is, I have thought little about all this 
that is uppermost in your minds. I have been all 
through the phase of shrinking from the world's 
word and touch, as if my whole being were a diseased 
nerve. While in that condition I suffered enough, 
God knows ; but even in the police court I was not 
made to feel more thoroughly that I was a disgraced 
criminal than I have been here, in my childhood’s 
home. Perhaps you can't help your feeling; but 
the result is all the same. Through the influence of 
a woman who belongs to heaven rather than earth, I 
was led to forget the world and all about it ; I was led 
to wish to form a good character for its own sake. I 
wanted to be rid of the debasing vices of my nature 
which she had made me hate, and which would 
separate me from such as she is. I wanted your for- 
giveness, mother. More than all, I wanted God's 
forgiveness, and that great change in my nature 
which he alone can bestow. I felt that Dr. Marks 
could help me, because I believed in him ; and he did 
carry me, as it were, to the very gate of heaven. I 
expected, at least, a little sympathy from you all, and 
a God-speed as I went back to my work to-morrow. 
1 even hoped that you might take me by the hand, 
and say to those who knew us here, ‘ My son was 
lost, but is found. He wishes to live a manly, Chris- 
tian life, and all who are Christians should help him. 


VOTARIES OF THE WORLD. 


389 


I find, on the contrary, that Christ and his wai*ds are 
forgotten ; that I am regarded as a hideous and de- 
formed creature, that must be disguised as far as 
possible, and spirited off to some remote corner of 
the earth, and there virtually buried alive. Thus 
different are the teachings of the Bible and the teach- 
ings of the world. I thought I could not endure my 
hard lot at Hillaton any longer, but I shall go back 
to it quite content.” 

As the youth uttered these words, with his usual 
impetuosity, his mother could only weep and tremble 
in her weak and nervous way ; but his sisters ex 
claimed : 

“ Go back to your old mill-life at Hillaton ! * 

“Yes, by the first train, to-morrow.” 

“ Well ! ” they chorused, with a long breath, but 
as all language seemed inadequate they added no- 
thing to their exclamation. 

Mrs. Haldane slowly wiped her eyes, and said, 
“ Egbert is excited now, and docs not realize how 
we feel. After he has thought it all over quietly he 
will see tilings in a different light, and will perceive 
that he should take counsel from his mother rather 
than from a stranger” (with peculiar emphasis on 
this word). “ If he really wishes to do his duty as a 
Christian man, he will see that the first and most 
sacred obligations resting on him are to us and not 
to others, even though they may be more angelic 
than we are. You promised last evening that it 
would be your life-effort to make amends for the 
wrongs you have inflicted upon us ; and going back 
to your old, sordid life and vulgar associations would 


390 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

be a strange way of keeping this pledge. I suggest 
that we all retire to our rooms, and in the after part 
of the day we shall be calmer, and therefore more 
rational ; ” and the ladies quietly glided out, like 
black shadows. Indeed, they and their lives had 
become little more than attenuated shadows. 

There is nothing which so thoroughly depletes 
and robs moral character of all substance — there is 
nothing which so effectually destroys all robust in- 
dividuality — as the continuous asking of the ques- 
tion, “ What will people say? ” 

Poor Haldane went to his room, and paced it 
by the hour. He had learned thus early that the 
Christian life was not made up of sacred and beatific 
emotions, under the influence of which duty would 
become an easy, sun-illumined path. 

He already was in sore perplexity as to what his 
duty was in this instance. Ought he not to devote 
himself to his mother and sisters, and hope that time 
would bring a healthful change in their morbid feel- 
ing ? Surely what they a’sked would not seem hard 
in the world’s estimation — a trip to Europe, and a 
life of luxurious ease and amusement — for society 
would agree with his mother, that he could be as 
good and Christian-like as he pleased in the mean- 
time. The majority would say that if he could in 
part make amends by acquiescence in so reasonable 
a request, and one that promised so much of plea- 
sure and advantage to himself, he ought certainly to 
yield. 

But all that was good and manly in the young 
fellow’s nature rose up against the plan. In the first 


VOTARIES OF THE WORLD, 


39 > 


place, he instinctively felt that his mother and sis- 
ters’ views on nearly all subjects would be continu- 
ally at variance with his own, since they were com- 
ing to look at life from such totally different stand- 
points. He also believed that he would be an ever- 
present burden and source of mortification to them. 
As a child and a boy he had been their idol. They 
had looked forward to the time when he, with irre- 
proachable manners and reputation, would become 
their escort in the exclusive circles in which they 
were entitled to move. Now he was and would con- 
tinue to be the insuperable bar to those circles ; and 
by their sighs and manner he would be continually 
reminded of this fact. Fallen idols are a perpetual 
offense to their former worshipers, as they ever re« 
mind of the downfall of towering hopes. 

With all his faults, Haldane had too much spirit 
to go through life as one who must be tolerated, en- 
dured, kept in the background, and concerning whom 
no questions must be asked. 

He did think the matter over long and carefully, 
and concluded that even for his mother and sisters* 
sake it would be best that they should live apart. If 
he could thoroughly retrieve his character where he 
had lost it, they would be reconciled to him ; if he 
could not, he would be less of a burden and a mor- 
tification absent than present. 

When he considered his own feelings, the thought 
of skulking and hiding through life made his cheek 
tingle with shame and disgust. Conscience sided 
with his inclination to go back to his old, hard fight 
at Hillaton ; and it also appeared to him that he 


392 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

could there better maintain a Christian life, in spite 
of all the odds against him, than by taking the ener- 
vating course marked out by his mother. He also re- 
membered, with a faint thrill of hope, that whatever 
recognition he could get at Hillaton as a changed, a 
better man, it would be based on the rock of truth. 

He therefore concluded to go back as he had in- 
tended, and with the decision came his former, hap- 
py, mystical feeling, welling up in his heart like the 
sweet refreshing waters of a spring, the conscious- 
ness of which filled his heart with courage and con- 
fidence as to the future. 

“ Surely,” he exclaimed, I am a changed, a con- 
verted man. These strange, sweet emotions, this 
unspeakable gladness of heart in the midst of so 
much that is painful and distracting, prove that I 
am. I have not taken this journey in vain.” 

Haldane met only his sisters at dinner, for the scene 
of the morning had prostrated his mother with a ner- 
vous headache. In spite of his efforts, it was a con- 
strained and dismal affair, and all were glad when it 
was over. 

In the evening they all met in Mrs. Haldane’s 
room, and the young man told them his decision so 
firmly and quietly that, while they were both sur- 
prised and angry, they saw it was useless to remon- 
strate. He next drew such a dreary picture of the 
future as they had designed it, that they were half 
inclined to think he was right, and that his presence 
would be a greater source of pain than of comfort 
to them. He also convinced them that it would be 
less embarrassing for them to go to Europe alone 


VOTARIES OF THE WORLD. 


393 


than with his escort, and that the plan of going 
abroad need not be given up. 

But Mrs. Haldane was strenuous on the point 
that he should leave Hillaton, accept of her old offer, 
and live a quiet, respectable life in some retired 
place where he was not known. 

“ I will not have it said,” she persisted, “ that my 
son is working as a common factory hand, nor will 
I have our name associated with that wretched old 
creature whose profanity and general outlandishness 
are the town-talk and the constant theme of news- 
paper squibs. You at least owe it to us to let this 
scandal die out as speedily as possible. If you will 
comply with these most reasonable requirements, I 
will see that you have an abundant support. If you 
will not, I have no evidence of a change in your char- 
acter ; nor can I see any better way than to leave 
you to suffer the consequences of your folly until 
you do come to your senses.” 

Mother, do you think a young fellow of my 
years and energy could go to an out-of-the-way 
place, and just mope, eat, and sleep for the sake of 
being supported ? I would rather starve first. I 
fear we shall never understand each other; and I 
have reached that point in life when I must follow 
my own conscience. I shall leave to-morrow morn- 
ing before any of you are iip; and in my old work- 
ing clothes. Good-by ; ” and before they could real- 
ize it he had kissed them and left the room. 

They weakly sighed as over the inevitable; but 
one of his sisters said, “ He will be glad enough to 
come to your terms before winter.” 

17 * 


394 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENl URY. 


CHAPTER XL. 


HUMAN NATURE. 


T an early hour Haldane, true to his purpose, 



XX departed from the home of his childhood in 
the guise of a laborer, as he had come. His mother 
heard his step on the stairs, for she had passed a 
sleepless night, agitated by painful emotions. She 
wished to call him back ; she grieved over his course 
as a “ dark and mysterious providence,” as a mis- 
fortune which, like death, could not be escaped ; but 
with the persistency of a little mind, capable of tak- 
ing but a single and narrow view, she was absolutely 
sure she was right in her course, and that nothing 
but harsh and bitter experience would bring her way- 
ward son to his senses. 

Nor did it seem that the harsh experience would 
oe wanting, for the morning was well advanced when 
he reached his place of work, and he received a severe 
reprimand from the foreman for being so late. His 
explanation, that he had received permission to be 
absent, was incredulously received. It also seemed 
that gibes, taunts, and sneers were flung at him with 
increasing venom by his ill-natured associates, who 
were vexed that they had not been able to drive him 
away by their persecutions. 



Haldane departed from the Home of his Childhood in 
THE Guise of a Laborer, 

Knight XIX Century. Page 394. 















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HUMAN NA TURE. 


395 


But the object of their spite was dwelling in a 
world of which they knew nothing, and in which 
they had no part, and, almost oblivious of their ex- 
istence, he performed his mechanical duty in almost 
undisturbed serenity. 

Mr. Growther. welcomed him back most heartily, 
and with an air of eager expectation, and when Hah 
dane briefly but graphically narrated his experience, 
he hobbled up and down the room in a state of great 
excitement. 

“You’ve got it ! you’ve got it ! and the genuine 
article, too, as sure as my name is Jeremiah Grow- 
ther ! ” he exclaimed ; “ I’d give the whole airth, and 
any thing else to boot, that was asked, if I could only 
git religion. But it’s no use for me to think about 
it ; I’m done, and cooled off, and would break inter 
ten thousand pieces if I tried to change myself. I 
couldn’t feel what you feel any more than I could 
run and jump as you kin. My moral j’ints is as stiff 
as hedge-stakes. If I tried to git up a little of your 
feelin’, it would be like tryin’ to hurry along the 
spring by buildin’ a fire on the frozen ground. It 
would only make one little spot soft and sloppy; 
the fire would soon go out : then it would freeze 
right up agin. Now, with you it’s spring all over; 
you feel tender and meller-like, and every thing good 
is ready to sprout. Well, well ! if I do have to go 
to old Nick at last, I’m powerful glad he’s had this 
set-back in your case.” 

Long and earnestly did Haldane try to reason his 
quaint friend out of his despairing views of himself. 
At last the old man said testily, 


396 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

“ Now, look here; you’re too new-fledged a saint 
to instruct a seasoned and experienced old sinner 
like me. You don’t know much about the Lord’s 
ways yet, and I know all about the devil’s ways. 
Because you’ve got out of his clutches (and I’m 
mighty glad you have) you needn’t make light of 
him, and take liberties with him as if he was nobody, 
’specially when Scripter calls him 'a roarin’ lion.’ 
If I was as young as you be. I’d make a dead set 
to git away from him ; but after tryin’ more times 
than you’ve lived years, I know it ain’t no use. I 
tell you I can’t feel as you feel, any more than 
you can squeeze water out of them old andirons. 
A-a-h ! ” 

Haldane was silent, feeling that the old man’s 
spiritual condition was too knotty a problem for 
him to solve. 

After a few moments Mr. Growther added, in a 
voice that he meant to be very solemn and impres- 
sive : 

But I want you to enjoy your religious feelin’s 
all the same. I will listen to all the Scripter readin’ 
and prayin’ you’re willin’ to do, without makin’ 
any disturbance. Indeed, I think I will enjoy my 
wittles more, now that an honest grace can be 
said over ’em. An’ when you read the Bible, you 
needn’t read the cussin’ parts, if yer don’t want to. 
1 11 read ’em to myself hereafter. I’ll give you all 
the leeway that an old curmudgeon like myself kin , 
and I expect to take a sight o’ comfort in seein’ you 
goin’ on your way rejoicin’.” 

And he did seem to take as much interest in the 


HUMAN NATURE. 


397 


young man’s progress and new spiritual experiences 
as if he alone were the one interested. His efforts 
to control his irritability and profanity were both 
odd and pathetic, and Haldane would sometimes 
hear him swearing softly to himself, with strange 
contortions of his wrinkled face, when in former 
times he would have vented his spite in the harsh- 
est tones. 

Haldane wrote fully to Mrs. Arnot of his visit to 
his native city and its happy results, and enlarged 
upon his changed feelings as the proof that he was 
a changed man. 

Her reply was prompt, and was filled with the 
warmest congratulations and expressions of the sin- 
cerest sympathy. It also contained these words : 

“ I fear that you are dwelling too largely upon 
your feelings and experiences, and are giving to 
them a value they do not possess. Not that I would 
undervalue them — they are gracious tokens of God’s 
favor ; but they are not the grounds of your salva- 
tion and acceptance with God.” 

Haldane did not believe that they were — he had 
been too well taught for that — but he regarded them 
2-S the evidences that he was accepted, that he was a 
Christian ; and he expected them to continue, and 
to bear him forward, and through and over the pecu- 
liar trials of his lot, as on a strong and shining tide, 

Mrs. Arnot also stated that she was just on the 
eve of leaving home for a time, and that on her re- 
turn she would see him and explain more fully her 
meaning. 

In conclusion, she wrote : “ I think you did what 


398 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

was right and best in returning to Hillaton. At 
any rate, you have reached that age when you must 
obey your own conscience, and can no longer place 
the responsibility of your action upon others. But, 
remember, that you owe to your mother the most 
delicate forbearance and consideration. You should 
write to her regularly, and seek to prove that you 
are guided by principle rather than impulse. Your 
mother has much reason to feel as she does, and 
nothing can excuse you from the sacred duties you 
owe to her.” 

Haldane did write as Mrs. Arnot suggested. In 
a few days he received the following letter from his 
mother : 

" We shall sail for Europe as soon as we can get ready lor the 
journey. Our lawyer is making all the necessary arrangement^ for 
us. I will leave funds with him, and whenever you are ready in 
good faith to accept my offer, leave Hillaton, and live so that this 
scandal can die out, you can obtain from him the means of living 
decently and quietly. As it is, I live in daily terror lest you again do 
something which will bring our name into the Hillaton papers ; and, 
of course, every thing is copied by the press of this city. Will the 
time ever come when you will consider your mother’s and sisters' 
feelings ? ” 

For a time all went as well as could be expecte^ 
in the trying circumstances of Haldane’s life. H'lS 
prayers for strength and patience were at first ear- 
nest, and their answers seemed assured — so assured, 
indeed, that in times of haste and weariness prayer 
eventually came to be hurried or neglected. Before 
he was aware of it, feeling began to ebb away. He 
at last became troubled, and then alarmed, and made 
great effort to regain his old, happy emotions and 


HUMAN NATURE. 


399 


experiences ; but, like an outgoing tide, they ebbed 
steadily away. 

His face indicated his disquiet and anxiety, for he 
felt like one who was clinging to a rope that was 
slowly parting, strand by strand. 

Keen-eyed Mr. Growther watched him closely, and 
was satisfied that something was amiss. He was 
much concerned, and took not a little of the blame 
upon himself. 

“ How can a man be a Christian, or any thing else 
that’s decent, when he keeps such cussed company 
as I be?” he muttered. “I s’pose I kinder pisen 
and wither up his good feelin’s like a sulphuric acid 
fact’ry.” 

One evening he exclaimed to Haldane, “ I say, 
young man, you had better pull out o’ here.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I’ll give you a receipt in full and a good charac- 
ter, and then you look for a healthier boardin’-place.” 

‘‘Ah, I see! You wish to be rid of me?” 

“ No, you don’t see, nuther. I wish you to be 
rid of me.” 

“ Of course, if you wish me to go. I’ll go at once,” 
said Haldane, in a despondent tone. 

“ And go off at half-cock into the bargain ? I 
ain t one of the kind, you know, that talks around 
Robin Hood’s barn. I go straight in at the front 
door and out at the back. It’s my rough way of 
coming to the p’int at once. I kin see that you’re 
runnin’ behind in speret’al matters, and I believe 
that my cussedness is part to blame. You don’t feel 
good as you used to. It would never do to git down 


400 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


at the heel in these matters, ’cause the poorest tim- 
ber in the market is yer old backsliders. Td rather 
be what I am than be a backslider. The right way 
is to take these things in time, before you git agoin’ 
down hill too fast. It isn’t that I want to git rid of 
you at all. I’ve kinder got used to you, and like to 
have you ’round ’mazingly; but I don’t s’pose it’s 
possible for you to feel right and live with me, and so 
you had better cut stick in time, for you must keep 
a-feelin’ good and pi’us-like, my boy, or it’s all up 
with you.” 

Then you don’t want me to go for the sake of 
your own comfort ? ” 

“ Not a bit of it. I only want you to git inter a 
place that isn’t so morally pisened as this, where I 
do so much cussin’ ; for I will and must cuss as long 
as there’s an atom left of me as big as a head of a 
pin. A-a-h!” 

Then I prefer to take my chances with you to 
going anywhere else.” 

“ Think twice.” 

‘‘ I have thought more than twice.” 

Then yer blood be on yer own head,” said Mr. 
Growther with tragic solemnity, as if he were about 
to take Haldane’s life. My skirts is clear after this 
warnin’.” 

Indeed they are. You haven’t done me a bit of 
harm.” 

‘‘ Where does the trouble come from then ? Who 
is a-harmin’ you ? ” 

Well, Mr. Growther,” said Haldane, wearily, 
‘*1 hardly know what is the matter. I am losing 


HUMAN NA TURE. 


401 


zest and courage unaccountably. My old, happy 
and hopeful feelings are about all gone, and in their 
place all sorts of evil thoughts seem to be swarming 
into my mind. I have tried to keep all this to myself, 
but I have become so wretched that I must speak. 
Mrs. Arnot is away, or she might help me, as she 
ever does. I wish that I felt differently ; I pray that 
I may, but in spite of all I seem drifting back to 
my old miserable self. Ever}^ day I fear that I shall 
have trouble at the mill. When I felt so strong 
and happy I did not mind what they said. One day 
I was asked by a workman, who is quite a decent 
fellow, how I stood it all ? and I replied that I stood 
it as any well-meaning Christian man could. My 
implied assertion that I was a Christian was taken 
up as a great joke, and now they call me the ‘ pi’us 
jail-bird.’ As long as I felt at heart that I was a 
Christian, I did not care ; but now their words gall 
me to the quick. I do not know what to think. It 
seems to me that if any one ever met with a change 
I did. I’m sure I wish to feel now as I did then ; 
but I grow worse every day. I am losing self-con- 
trol and growing irritable. This evening, as I passed 
liquor saloons on my way home, my old appetite for 
drink seemed as strong as ever. What does it all 
mean ? ” 

Mr. Growther’s wrinkled visage worked curiously, 
and at last he said in a tone and manner that 
betokened the deepest distress : 

“ I’m awfully afeerd you’re a-backslidin’. * 

I wish I had never been born,” exclaimed the 
youth, passionately, “ for I am a curse to mvself and 


402 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

all connected with me. I know I shall have trouble 
with one man at the mill. I can see it coming, and 
then, of course, I shall be discharged. I seem des- 
tined to defeat in this my last attempt to be a man, 
and I shall never have the courage or hope to try 
again. If I do break down utterly, I feel as if I will 
become a very devil incarnate. O ! how I wish that 
Mrs. Arnot was home." 

“ Now this beats me all out," said Mr. Growther, 
in great perplexity. “ A while ago you felt like 
a saint and acted like one, now you talk arid act 
as if Old Nick and all his imps had got a hold 
on ye. How do you explain all this, for it beats 
me?" 

I don’t and can’t explain. But here are the 
facts, and what are you going to do with them?” 

“ I ain’t a-goin’ to do nothin’ with ’em except cuss 
em; and that’s all I kin do in any case. You’ve 
got beyond my depth." 

The sorely tempted youth could obtain but little 
aid and comfort, therefore, from his quaint old friend, 
and, equally perplexed and unable to understand 
himself, he sought to obtain such rest as his dis- 
quieted condition permitted. 

As a result of wakefulness in the early part of the 
night, he slept late the following morning, and has- 
tened to his work with scarcely a mouthful of break- 
fast. He was thus disqualified, physically as well 
as mentally, for the ordeal of the day. 

He was a few minutes behind time, and a sharp 
reprimand from the foreman rasped his already jan- 
gling nerves. But he doggedly set his teeth arwl re* 


HUMAN NATURE. 


403 

solved to see and hear nothing save that which per- 
tained to his work. 

He might have kept his resolve had there been 
nothing more to contend with than the ordinary 
verbal persecution. But late in the afternoon, when 
he had grown weary from the strain of the day, his 
special tormentor, a burly Irishman, took occasion, 
in passing, to push him rudely against a pert and slat- 
tern girl, who also was foremost in the tacit league 
of petty annoyance. She acted as if the contact 
of Haldane’s person was a purposed insult, and re- 
sented it by a sharp slap of his face. 

Her stinging stroke was like a spark to a maga- 
zine ; but paying no heed to her, he sprang toward 
her laughing ally with fierce oaths upon his lips, and 
by a single blow sent him reeling to the floor. The 
machinery was stopped sharply, as far as possible, 
by the miscellaneous work-people, to whom a fight 
was a boon above price, and with shrill and clamor- 
ous outcries they gathered round the young man 
tvhere he stood, panting, like a wounded animal at 
bay. 

His powerful antagonist was speedily upon his 
feet, and at once made a rush for the youth who had 
so unexpectedly turned upon him ; and though he 
received another heavy blow, his onset was so strong 
that he was able to close with Haldane, and thus 
made the conflict a mere trial of brute force. 

As Haldane afterward recalled the scene, he was 
conscious that at the time he felt only rage, and a 
mad desire to destroy his opponent. 

In strength they were quite evenly matched, and 


404 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


aftei a moment’s struggle both fell heavily, and Hah 
dane was able to disengage himself. As the Irish- 
man rose, and was about to renew the fight, he 
struck him so tremendous a blow on the temple that 
the man went to the floor as if pierced by a bullet, 
and lay there stunned and still. 

When Haldane saw that his antagonist did not 
move, time was given him to think ; he experienced 
\ terrible revulsion. He remembered his profanity 
and brutal rage, he felt that he had broken down 
utterly. He was overwhelmed by his moral defeat, 
and covering his face with his hands, he groaned 
Lost, lost ! ” 

By jocks,” exclaimed a rude, half-grown fellow, 
“ that clip would have felled an ox.” 

“Do you think he’s dead?” asked the slattern 
girl, now thoroughly alarmed at the consequences of 
the blow she had given. 

“ Dead ! ” cried Haldane, catching the word, and, 
pushing all aside, he knelt over his prostrate foe. 

“ Water, bring water, for God’s sake ! ” he said 
eagerly, lifting up the unconscious man. 

It was brought and dashed in his face. A mo- 
ment later, to Haldane’s infinite relief he revived, 
and after a bewildered stare at the crowd around 
him, fixed his eyes on the youth who had dealt the 
blow, and then a consciousness of all that had oc- 
curred seemed to return. He showed his teeth in 
impotent rage fora moment, as some wild animal 
might have done, and then rose unsteadily to his 
feet. 

“ Go back to your work, all on ye,” thundered the 


HUMAN NATURE. 


405 


foreman, who, now that the sport was over, was bent 
on making a great show of his zeal ; “ as for you two 
bull-dogs, you shall pay dearly for this ; and let me 
say to you, Mister Haldane, that the pious dodge 
won’t answer any longer.” 

A moment later, with the exception of flushed 
faces and excited whisperings, the large and crowd- 
ed apartment wore its ordinary aspect, and the ma- 
chinery clanked on as monotonously as ever. 

Almost as mechanically Haldane moved in the 
routine of his labor, but the bitterness of despair was 
in his heart. 

He forgot that he would probably be discharged 
that day; he forgot that a dark and uncertain future 
was before him. He only remembered his rage and 
profanity, and they seemed to him damning proofs 
that all be had felt, hoped, and believed was delu- 
sion. 


400 KNIGHT OP THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

MRS. ARNOT’S creed. 

HEN Haldane entered the cottage that even- 



V V ing his eyes were blood-shot and his face 
so haggard that Mr. Growther started out of his 
chair, exclaiming, 

“ Lord a’ massy! what’s the matter? ” 

“ Matter enough,” replied the youth, with a reck- 
less oath. “ The worst that I feared has happened.” 

“ What’s. happened?” asked the old man excitedly. 

‘‘ I’ve been fighting in the work-room like a bull- 
dog, and swearing like a pirate. That’s the kind of 
a Christian I am, and always will be. What I was 
made for, I don’t see,” he added, as he threw him- 
self into a chair. 

Well, well, well !” said Mr. Growther dejectedly, 
“ I was in hopes she’d git here in time ; but I’m 
afeered you’ve just clean backslid.” 

“ No kind of doubt on that score,” replied the 
young man, with a bitter laugh ; “ though I now 
think I never had very far to slide. And yet it all 
seems wrong and unjust. Why should my hopes be 
raised ? why should such feelings be inspired, if this 
was to be the end? If I was foreordained to go 
to the devil, why must an aggravating glimpse of 
heaven be given me? I say it’s all cruel and 


MRS. ARNOT*S CREED. 


407 


wrong. But what’s the use ! Come, let’s have sup- 
per, one must eat as long as he’s in the body.” 

It was a silent and dismal meal, and soon over. 
Then Haldane took his hat without a word. 

“Where are you goin’?” asked Mr. Growther, 
anxiously. 

“ I neither know nor care.” 

“ Don’t go out to-night, I expect somebody.” 

“Who, in the name of wonder?” 

“ Mrs. Arnot.” 

“ I could as easily face an angel of light now as 
Mrs. Arnot,” he replied, pausing on the threshold ; 
for even in his reckless mood the old man’s wistful 
face had power to restrain. 

“You are mistaken, Egbert,” said a gentle voice 
behind him. “You can face me much more easily 
than an angel of light. I am human like yourself, 
and your friend.” 

She had approached the open door through the 
dusk of the mild autumn evening, and had heard his 
words. He trembled at her voice, but ventured no 
reply. 

“ I have come to see you, Egbert ; you will not 
leave me.” 

“ Mrs. Arnot,” he said passionately, “ I am not 
worth the trouble you take in my behalf, and I might 
as V ell tell you at once that it is in vain.” 

“ I do not regard what I do for you as ‘ trouble, 
and I know it is not in vain,” she replied, with calm, 
clear emphasis. 

Her manner quieted him somewhat ; but after a 
moment he said. 


4 o 8 knight of the NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

**You do not know what has happened to-day 
nor how I have been feeling for many days past.” 

“Your manner indicates how you feel; and you 
may tell me what has happened if you wish. If you 
prefer that we should be alone, come with me to my 
carriage, and in the quiet of my private parlor you 
can tell me all.” 

“ No,” said Haldane gloomily ; “ I am not fit to 
enter your house, and for other reasons would ra- 
ther not do so. I have no better friend than Mr. 
Growther, and he already knows it all. I may 
as well tell you here ; that is, if you are willing to 
stay.” 

“ I came to stay,” said Mrs. Arnot quietly ; and 
sitting down, she turned a grave and expectant face 
td^ard him. 

“ I cannot find words in which to tell you my 
shame, ^d the utterness of my defeat.” 

“Yes, you can, Egbert. I believe that you have 
always told me the truth about yourself.” 

“ I have, and I will again,” he said desperately ; 
“ and yet it seems like profanation to describe such 
a scene to you.” But he did describe it, briefly and 
graphically, n^ertheless. As he spoke of his last 
fierce blow, vmich vanquished his opponent, Mr. 
Growther muttered, 

“ Sarved him right ; can’t help feelin’ glad you 
hit *im so hard ; but then that’s in keepin’ with the 
cussedness of my natur’.” 

A glimmer of a smile hovered around Mrs. Ar- 
not’s flexible mouth, but she only asked quietly, 

“ Is that all ? ” 


M/iS. ARNOT'S CREED. 


409 

“ I should think that was enough, after all that 1 
had felt and professed.’’ 

“ I fear I shall shock you, Egbert, but I am not 
very much surprised at your course. Indeed I think 
it was quite natural, in view of the circumstances. 
Perhaps my nature is akin to Mr. Growther’s, for 
I am rather glad that fellow was punished ; and I 
think it was very natural for you to punish him as 
you did. So far from despairing of you, I am the 
more hopeful of you.”^ 

“ Mrs. Arnot ! ” exclaimed the youth in undis- 
guised astonishment. 

Now do not jump to hasty and false conclu- 
sions from my words ; I do not say that your action 
was right. In the abstract it was decidedly wrong, 
and for your language there is no other excuse save 
that an old, bad habit asserted itself at a time 
when you had lost self-control. I am dealing leni- 
ently with you, Egbert, because it is a trick of the 
adversary to tempt to despair as well as to over-con- 
fidence. At the same time I speak sincerely. You 
are and have been for some time in a morbid state 
of mind. Let my simple common-sense come to 
your aid in this emergency. The very conditions 
under which you have been working at the mill im- 
posed a continuous strain upon your nervous power. 
You were steadily approaching a point where mere 
human endurance would give way. Mark, I do not 
say that you might not have been helped to endure 
longer, and to endure every thing ; but mere human 
nature could not have endured it much longer. It is 
often wiser to shun certain temptations, if we can, than 
18 


00 KNIGHT OF THE NINETERNTII CENTURY. 

to meet them. \ ou could not do this ; and if, taking 
into account all the circumstances, you could have 
tamely submitted to this insult, which was the cul- 
mination of long-continued and exasperating injury. 

1 should have doubted whether you possessed the 
material to make a strong, forceful man. Of course, 
if you often give way to passion in this manner, you 
would be little better than a wild beast ; but for 
weeks you had exercised very great forbearance and 
self-control — for one of your^temperament, remark- 
able self-control — and I respect you for it. We are 
as truly bound to be just to ourselves as to others. 
Your action was certainly wrong, and I would be 
deeply grieved and disappointed if you continued 
to give way to such ebullitions of passion ; but 
remembering your youth, and all that has hap- 
pened since spring, and observing plainly that you 
are in an unhealthful condition of mind and body, 
I think your course was very natural indeed, 
and that you have no occasion for such despond- 
ency.** 

Yes,** put in Mr. Growther ; “ arid he went away 
without his breakfast, and it was mighty little he 
took for lunch; all men are savages when they 
haven’t eaten any thing.*’ 

“ Pardon me, Mrs. Arnot,” said Haldane gloomily, 

all this does not meet the case at all. I had been 
hoping that I was a Christian ; what is more, it 
seems to me that I had had the feelings and experi- 
ences of a Christian.** 

“ I have nothing to say against that,** said the 
lady quietly , “ I am very glad that you had.’* 


MUS. ARNOTS CREED. 


411 


“ After what has occurred what nght have I to 
think myself a Christian ? ” 

** As good a right as multitudes of others.’^ 

“Now, Mrs. Arnot, that seems to me to be con- 
trary to reason.” 

“ It is not contrary to fact. Good people in the 
Bible, good people in history, and to my personal 
knowledge, too, have been left to do outrageously 
wrong things. To err is human ; and we are all very 
human, Egbert.” 

“ But I don’t feel that I am a Christian any 
longer,” he said sadly. 

“ Perhaps you are not, and never were. But this 
is a question that you can never settle by consulting 
your own feelings.” 

“ Then how can I settle it ? ” was the eager re- 
sponse. 

“ By settling fully and finally in your mind what 
relation you will sustain to Jesus Christ. He offers 
to be your complete Saviour from sin. Will you ac- 
cept of him as such ? He offers to be your divine 
and unerring guide and example in your every-day 
life. Will you accept of him as such ? Doing these 
two things in simple honesty and to the best of our 
ability is the only way to be a Christian that I know 
of.” 

“Is that all?” muttered Mr. Growther, rising 
for a moment from his chair in his deep interest in 
her words. She gave him an encouraging smile, and 
then turned to Haldane again. 

“ Mrs. Arnot,” he said, “ I know that you are far 
wiser in these matters than I, and yet I am bewil 


412 KNIGHT OP THE NINETEENTH CENTVRV. 


dered. The Bible says we must be converted ; that 
we must be born again. It seems to require some 
great, mysterious change that shall renew our whole 
nature. And it seemed to me that I experienced 
that change. It would be impossible for me to de- 
scribe to you my emotions. They were sincere and 
profound. They stirred the very depths of my soul, 
and under their influence it was a joy to worship 
God and to do his will. Had I not a right to believe 
that the hour in which I first felt those glad thrills 
of faith and love was the hour of my conversion?” 

You had a right to hope it.” 

“ But now, to-day, when every bad passion has been 
uppermost in my heart, what reason have I to hope ? ” 
“ None at all, looking to yourself and to your 
varying emotions.” 

Mrs. Arnot, I am bewildered. I am all at sea. 
The Bible, as interpreted by Dr. Barstow and Dr. 
Marks, seems to require so much ; and what you 
say is required is simplicity itself.” 

If you will listen patiently, Egbert, I will give 
you my views, and I think they are correct, for I 
endeavor to take them wholly from the Bible. That 
which God requires is simplicity itself, and yet it is 
very much ; it is infinite. In the first place, one 
must give up self-righteousness — not self-respect, 
mark you — but mere spiritual self-conceit, which is 
akin to the feeling of some vulgar people who think 
they are good enough to associate with those who 
are immeasurably beyond them, but whose superi- 
ority they are too small to comprehend. We must 
come to God in the spirit of a little child ; and then, 


MRS. ARNOT'S CREED. 


413 


as if we were children, he will give to us a natural 
and healthful growth in the life that resembles his 
own. This is the simplest thing that can be done, 
and all can do it ; but how many are trying to work 
out their salvation by some intricate method of hu- 
man device, and, stranger still, are very complacent 
over the mechanical and abnormal results ! All such 
futile efforts, of which many are so vain, must be 
cast aside. Listen to Christ’s own words : ‘ Learn of 
me, for I am meek and lowly in heart.’ He who 
would enter upon the Christian life, must come to 
Christ as the true scientist sits at the feet of nature 
— docile, teachable, eager to learn truth that existed 
long before he was born, and not disposed to thrust 
forw'ard some miserable little system of his own. 
Nothing could be simpler, easier, or more pleasing 
to Christ himself than the action of Mary as she sat 
at his feet and listened to him ; but many are like 
Martha, and are bustling about in his service in 
ways pleasing to themselves ; and it is very hard for 
them to give up their own way. I’ve had to give up 
a great deal in my time, and perhaps you will. 

“ In addition to all trust in ourselves, in what we 
are and what we have done, we must turn away 
from what we have felt ; and here I think I touch 
your present difficulties. We are not saved by the 
emotions of our own hearts, however sacred and 
delightful they may seem. Nor do they always in- 
dicate just what we are and shall be. A few weeks 
since you thought your heart had become the abid- 
ing-place of all that was good ; now, it seems to you 
to be possessed by evil. This is common experience ; 


414 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

at one time the Psalmist sings in rapturous de- 
votion ; again, he is wailing in penitence over one 
of the blackest crimes in history. Peter is on the 
Mount of Transfiguration ; again, he is denying his 
master with oaths and curses. Even good men vary 
as widely as this ; but Christ is ‘ the same, yesterday, 
to-da} , and forever.’ By good men I mean simply 
those who are sincerely wishing and trying to obtain 
mastery over the evil of their natures. If you still 
wish to do this, I have abundant hope for you, — as 
much hope as ever I had.” 

Of what value, then, were all those strange, 
happy feelings which I regarded as the proofs of 
my conversion ? ” Haldane asked, with the look of 
deep perplexity still upon his face. 

“ Of very great value, if you look upon them in 
their true light. They were evidences of God’s love 
and favor. They showed how kindly disposed he is 
toward you. They can prove to you how abundantly 
able he is to reward all trust and service, giving 
foretastes of heavenly bliss even in the midst of 
earthly warfare. The trouble has been with you, as 
with so many others, that you have been consulting 
- your variable emotions instead of looking simply 
to Christ, the author and finisher of our faith. Be- 
sides, the power is not given to us to maintain an 
equable flow of feeling for any considerable length 
of time. We react from exaltation into depres- 
sion inevitably. Our feelings depend largely also 
uj)on earthly causes and our physical condition, 
and we can never be absolutely sure how far they 
are the result of the direct action of God’s Spirit 


MRS. ARNOT*S CREED, 


415 


upon our minds. It is God’s plan to work through 
simple, natural means, so that we may not be look- 
ing and waiting for the supernatural. And yet it 
would seem that many are so irrational that, when 
they find mere feeling passing away, they give up 
their hope and all relationship to Christ, acting as 
if the immutable love of God were changing with 
their flickering emotions.” 

“ I have been just so irrational,” said Haldane in 
a low, deep tone. 

“Then settle it now and forever, my dear young 
friend, that Jesus Christ, who died to save you, 
wishes to save you every day and all the days of 
your life. He does not change a hair’s breadth from 
the attitude indicated in the words, ‘ Come unto 
me ; and whosoever cometh unto me I will in no- 
wise cast out.'” 

“ Do you mean to say he feels that way toward 
me all the time, in spite of all my cantankerous 
moods?” asked Mr. Growther ea;gerly. 

“ Most certainly.” 

“ I wouldn’t a’ thought it if I’d lived a thousand 
years.” 

“What, then, is conversion?” asked Haldane, 
feeling as if he were being led safely out of a laby- 
rinth in which he had lost himself. 

“ In my view it is simply turning away from 
eveiy thing to Christ as the sole ground of our sal- 
vation and as our divine guide and example in 
Christian living.” 

“ But how can we ever know that we are Chris* 
tians ? ” 


4i6 knight of the nineteenth century. 

“ Only by the honest, patient, continued effort to 
obey his brief command, ‘ Follow me.’ We may 
follow near, or we may follow afar off; but we can 
soon learn whether we wish to get nearer to him, 
or to get away from him, or to just indifferently let 
him drop out of our thoughts. The Christian is one 
who holds and maintains certain simple relations to 
Christ. ^Ye are my friends,’ he said, not if you 
feel thus and so, but, ‘ if ye do whatsoever I com- 
mand you ; ’ and I have found from many years’ ex- 
perience that ^ his commandments are not grievous. 
For every burden he imposes he gives help and 
comfort a hundred times. The more closely and 
faithfully we follow him, the more surely do fear 
and doubt pass away. We learn to look up to him 
as a child looks in its mother’s face, and ‘ his Spirit 
beareth witness with our spirit that we are his.’ But 
the vital point is, are we following him ? Feeling 
varies so widely and strangely in varied circumstances 
and with different temperaments that many a true 
saint of God would be left in cruel uncertainty if 
this were the test. My creed is a very simple one, 
Egbert ; but I take a world of comfort in it. It 
contains only three words — Trust, follow Christ — 
that is all.” 

It is so simple and plain that I am tempted to 
take it as my creed also,” said Haldane, with a tinge 
of hope and enthusiasm in his manner. 

“ And yet remember,” warned his friend earnest- 
ly, “ there is infinite requirement in it. A child 
can make a rude sketch of a perfect statue that 
will bear some faint resemblance to it. If he per- 


MRS. ARNOT*S CREED. 


4ir 

severes he can gradually learn to draw the statue 
with increasing accuracy. In taking this Divine 
Man as your example, you pledge yourself to imi- 
tate One whom you can ever approach but never 
reach. And yet there is no occasion for the weak- 
est to falter before this infinite requirement, for God 
himself in spirit is present everywhere to aid all in 
regaining the lost image of himself. It is to no 
lonely unguided effort that I urge you, Egbert, but 
to a patient co-working with your Maker, that you 
may attain a character that will fit you to dwell at 
last in your kingly Father’s house; and I tell you 
frankly, for your encouragement, that you are capa- 
ble of forming such a character. I will now bid you 
good night, and leave you to think over what I have 
said. But write to me or come to me whenever you 
wish.” 

“ Good night, Mr. Growther ; hate yourself if you 
will, but remember that the Bible assures us that 
* God is love ; ’ you cannot hate him.” 
i8* 


41 8 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

THE LEVER THAT MOVES THE WORLD. 

HE power of truth can scarcely be overesti 



-t- mated, and the mind that earnestly seeks it 
becomes noble in its noble quest. If this can be said 
of truth in the abstract, and in its humbler manifesta- 
tions, how omnipotent truth becomes in its grandest 
culmination and embodied in a being capable of in- 
spiring our profoundest fear and deepest love. One 
may accept of religious forms and philosophies, and 
be little changed thereby. One may be perfectly 
saturated with ecclesiasticism, and still continue a 
small-natured man. But the man that accepts of 
Jesus Christ as a personal and living teacher, as did 
the fishermen of Galilee, that man begins to grow 
large and noble, brave and patient. 

Egbert Haldane has been sketched as an ordinary 
youth. There are thousands like him who have been 
warped and marred by early influences, but more 
seriously injured by a personal and willful yield- 
ing to whatever form of evil proved attractive. The 
majority are not so unwary or so unfortunate as he 
was ; but multitudes, for whom society has compara- 
tively little criticism, are more vitiated at heart, more 
cold-blooded and deliberate in their evil. One may 


THE LEVER THAT MOVES THE WORLD 415 

form a base character, but maintain an outward re- 
spectability ; but let him not be very complacent over 
the decorous and conventional veneer which masks 
him from the world. If one imagines that he can 
corrupt his own soul and make it the abiding-place 
of foul thoughts, mean impulses, and shriveling self- 
ishness, and yet go forward very far in God’s uni- 
verse without meeting overwhelming disaster, he 
will find himself thoroughly mistaken. 

The sin of another man finds him out in swift se- 
quence upon its committal, and such had been Hal- 
dane’s experience. He had been taught promptly 
the nature of the harvest which evil produces in- 
evitably. 

The terrible consequences of sin prevent and 
deter from it in many instances, but they have no 
very great reformatory power it would seem. Mul- 
titudes to-day are in extremis from destroying vices, 
and recognize the fact ; but so far from reacting up- 
ward into virtue, even after vice (save in the intent 
of the heart) has ceased to be possible, there seems 
to be a moral inertia which nothing moves, or a 
reckless and increasing impetus downward. 

It would appear that, in order to save the sinful, 
a strong, and yet gentle and loving, hand must be 
laid upon them. The stern grasp of justice, the grip 
of pain, law — human and divine — with its severe pen- 
alties, and conscience re-echoing its thunders, all 
lead too often to despondency, recklessness, and de- 
spair. It would be difficult to imagine a worse hell 
than vice often digs for its votaries, even in this 
world ; and in spite of all human philosophies, and 


420 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

human wishes to the contrary, it remains a fact 
that the guilty soul trembles at a worse hereafter, 
and yet no sufferings, no fears, no fate can so appall 
as to turn the soul from its infatuation with that 
which is destroying it. More potent than commands, 
threats, and their dire fulfillment, is love, which wins 
and entreats back to virtue the man whom even 
Omnipotence could not drive back. 

In the flood God overwhelmed the sinful world in 
sudden destruction, but the race continued sinning 
all the same. At last God came among men, and 
shared in their lot and nature. He taught them, 
he sympathized with them, he loved them, he died 
for them, and when the wondrous story is told as 
it should be, the most reckless pause to listen, the 
most callous are touched, and those who would 
otherwise despair in their guilt are led to believe 
that there is a heart large and tender enough to pity 
and save even such as the world is ready to spurn 
into a dishonored grave. 

The love of God as manifested in Christ of Naza- 
reth is doing more for humanity than all other in- 
fluences combined. The best and noblest elements 
of our civilization can be traced either directly or 
indirectly to him, and shadows brood heavily over 
both the lands and hearts that neither know nor 
care for him. 

It would seem, then, that not the wrath of God, 
but his love, is most effective in separating men from 
the evil which would otherwise destroy them. God 
could best manifest this love by becoming a man 
“ made like unto his brethren ; ” for the love of God 


THE LEVER THAT MOVES THE WORLD. 421 

is ever best taught and best understood, not as a 
doctrine, but when embodied in some large-hearted 
and Christlike person. 

Such a person most emphatically was Mrs. Arnot 
and because of these divine characteristics her gentle, 
womanly hand became more potent to save young 
Haldane than were all the powers of evil and the 
downwgird impetus of a bad life to destroy. 

How very many, like him, might be saved, were 
more women of tact and culture, large-hearted also 
and willing to give a part of their time to such 
noble uses ! 

By a personal and human ministry, the method 
that has ever been most effective in God’s provi- 
dence, Haldane was at last brought into close, in- 
timate relations with the Divine Teacher himself. 
He was led to look away from his own fitful emo- 
tions and vague experiences to One who was his 
strong and unchanging friend. He was led to take 
as his daily guide and teacher the One who devel- 
oped Peter the fisherman, Paul the bigot, Luther the 
ignorant monk, into what they eventually became, 
and it was not strange, therefore, that his crude, mis- 
shapen character should gradually assume the out- 
lines of moral symmetry, and that strength should 
take the place of weakness. He commenced xto 
learn by experience the truth which many never half 
believe that God is as willing to lovingly fashion the 
spiritual life of some humble follower, as he is to 
shape the destiny of those who are to be famous in 
the annals of the church and the world. 

To Haldane’s surprise he was not discharged from 


422 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

his humble position in Mr. Ivison’s employ, and the 
explanation, which soon afterward appeared, gave 
him great encouragement. The man whom he had 
sc severely punished in his outburst of passion, 
vented his spite by giving to the Morning Courier 
an exaggerated and distorted account of the affair, 
in which the youth was made to exchange places 
with himself, and appear as a coarse, quarrelsome 
bully. 

When Haldane’s attention was called to the para- 
graph his face flushed with indignation as he read 
it ; but he threw the paper down and went to his 
work without a word of comment. He had already 
about despaired of any thing like justice or friendly 
recognition from the public, and he turned from this 
additional wrong with a feeling not far removed from 
indifference. He was learning the value of Mrs. 
Arnot’s suggestion, that a consciousness of one’s 
own integrity can do more to sustain than the world’s 
opinion, and her words on the previous evening had 
taught him how a companionship, and eventually a 
character, might be won that could compensate him 
for all that he had lost or might suffer. 

His persecutor was, therefore, disappointed in see- 
ing how little annoyance his spite occasioned, nor 
was his equanimity increased by a message from Mr. 
Ivison ordering his instant discharge. 

The following morning the foreman of the room 
in which Haldane worked came to him with quite a 
show of friendliness, and said : 

“ It seems ye’re in luck, for the boss takes an in- 
terest in ye. Read that ; I wouldn’t a’ thought it.” 


THE LEVEE THAT MOVES THE WORLD. 423 

Hope sprang up anew in the young man s breast 
as he read the following words: 

Editor Courier. — Dear Sir : — You will doubtless give sjiace foi 
this correction in regard to the fracas which took place in my factory 
a day or two since. You, with all right-minded men, surely desire 
that no injustice should be d*ne to any one in any circumstances 
Very great injustice was done tio young Haldane in your issue of to- 
day. I have taken pains to inform myself accurately, and have learned 
that he patiently submitted to a petty persecution for a long time, 
and at last gave way t;> natural anger under a provocation such as no 
man of spirit could endure. His tormentor, a coarse, ill-conditioned 
fellow, was justly punished, and I have discharged him from my em- 
ploy. I have nothing to offer in extenuation of young Haldane’s past 
faults, and, if I remember correctly, the press of the city has always 
been fully as severe upon him as the occasion demanded. If any 
further space is given to his fortunes, justice at least, not to say a little 
encouraging kindness, should be accorded to him, as well as severity. 
It should be stated that for weeks he has been trying to earn an honest 
livelihood, and in a situation peculiarly trying to him. I have been 
told that he sincerely wishes to reform and live a cleanly and decent 
life, and I have obtained evidence that satisfies me of the truth of 
this report. It appears to me that it is as mean a thing for news- 
papers to strike a man who is down, but who is endeavoring to rise 
again, as it is for an individual to do so, and I am sure that you will 
not consciously permit your journal to give any such sinister blow. 

Respectfully yours, 

John Ivison. 

In editorial comment came the following brief re- 
mark : 

We gladly give Mr. Ivison’s communication a prominent place. 
It is riot our intention to ‘strike’ any one, but merely to record each 
day’s events as they come to us. With the best intentions mistakes 
are sometimes made. We have no possible motive for not wishing 
young Haldane well — we do wish him success in achieving a better 
future than his past actions have led us to expect. The city would be 
much better off if all of his class were equally ready to go to work. 


i ■ 


424 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

Here at least was some recognition. The fact that 
he was working, and willing to work, had been plainly 
stated, and this fact is an essential foundation-stone 
in the building up of a reputation, which the world 
will respect. 

Although the discharge of the leading persecutor, 
and Mr. Ivison’s letter, did not add to Haldane’s pop- 
ularity at the mill, they led to his being severely let 
alone at first, and an increasingly frank and affable 
manner on the part of the young man, as he gained 
in patience and serenity, gradually disarmed those 
who were not vindictive and blind from prejudice. 

Poor Mrs. Haldane seemed destined to be her son’s 
evil genius to the end. When people take a false 
view of life there seems a fatality in all theii ac- 
tions. The very fact that they are not in accord 
with what is right and true causes the most impor- 
tant steps of their lives to appear ill-timed, injudi^ 
cious, and urftiatural. That they are well-meaning 
and sincere does not help matters much, if both tact 
and sound principles are wanting. Mrs. Haldane 
belonged to the class that are sure that every thing 
is right which seems right to them. True, it was 
a queer little jumble of religious prejudices and 
conventional notions that combined to produce her 
conclusions ; but when once they were reached, no 
matter how absurd or defective they appeared to 
others, she had no more doubt of them than of the 
Copernican system. 

Her motherly feelings had made her willing to take 
her son to some hiding-place in Europe ; but since 
that could not be, and perhaps was not best, she had 


THE LEVER THAT MOVES THE WORLD. 


425 


thoroughly settled it in her mind that he should ac- 
cept of her offer and live at her expense the undemon- 
strative life of an oyster in the social ar.d moral ooze 
of the obscurest mud-bank he could find. In this 
way the terrible world might be led to eventually 
leave off talking and thinking of the Haldane family 
— a consummation that appeared to her worth any 
sacrifice. When the morning paper brought another 
vile story (copied from the Hillaton Courier) of her 
son’s misdoings, her adverse view of his plans and 
character was confirmed beyond the shadow of a 
doubt. She felt that there was a fatality about the 
place and its associations for him, and her one hope 
was to get him away. 

She cut the article from the paper, and inclosed it 
to him with the accompanying note: 

We go to New York this afternoon, and sail for Europe to-mor- 
row. You send us in parting a characteristic souvenir, which I re- 
turn to you. The scenes and associations indicated in this disgrace- 
ful paragraph seem more to your taste than those which your family 
have hitherto enjoyed as their right for many generations. While 
this remains true, you, of necessity, cut yourself off from your kindred, 
and we, who are most closely connected, must remain where our 
names cannot be associated with yours. I still cherish the hope, how- 
ever, that you may find the way of the transgressor so hard that you 
will be brought by your bitter experience to accept of my offer and 
give the world a chance to forget your folly and wickedness. When 
you will do this in good faith (and my lawyer will see that it is done 
in good faith), you may draw on him for the means of a comfortable 
support. 

In bitter shame and sorrow, your mother, 

Emily Haldane. 

This letter was a severe blow to her son for it con 
tained the last words of the mother that he might 


426 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 


not see for years. While he felt it to be cruelly un- 
just to him and his present aims, he was calm enough 
now to see that the distorted paragraph which led to 
it fitted in only too well with the past, and so had 
the coloring of truth. When inclined to blame his 
mother for not waiting for his versions of these mis- 
erable events and accepting of them alone, he was 
compelled to remember that she was in part awak- 
ened from her blind idolatry of him by the discovery 
of his efforts to deceive her in regard to his increas- 
ing dissipation. Even before he had entered Mr. 
Arnot’s counting-room he had taught her to doubt 
his word, and now she had evidently lost confidence 
in him utterly. He foresaw that this confidence 
could be regained only by years of patient well- 
doing, and that she might incline to believe in him 
more slowly even than comparative strangers. But 
he was not disposed to be very angry and resent- 
ful, for he now had but little confidence in him- 
self. He had been led, however, by his bitter ex- 
perience and by Mrs. Arnot’s faithful ministry to 
adopt that lady’s brief but comprehensive creed. 
He was learning to trust in Christ as an all-powerful 
and personal friend ; he was daily seeking to grasp 
the principles which Christ taught, but more clearly 
acted out, and which are essential to the formation 
of a noble character. He had thus complied with 
the best conditions of spiritual growth ; and the 
crude elements of his character, which had been 
rendered more chaotic by evil, slowly began to shape 
themselves into the symmetry of a true man. 

In regard to his mother’s letter, all that he could 


THE LEVER THAT MOVES THE WORLD. 427 

do was to inclose to her, with the request that it be 
forwarded, Mr. Ivison’s defense of him, which ap- 
peared in the Courier of the following morning. 

**You perceive,” he wrote, “that a stranger has 
taken pains to inform himself correctly in regard 
to the facts of the case, and that he has for me 
some charity and hope. I do not excuse the wrong 
of my action on that occasion or on any other, but 
I do wish, and I am trying, to do better, and I hope 
to prove the same to you by years of patient effort. 
I may fail miserably, however, as you evidently be- 
lieve. The fact that my folly and wickedness have 
driven you and my sisters into exile, is a very great 
sorrow to me, but compliance with your request 
that I should leave Hillaton and go into hiding 
would bring no remedy at all. I know that I 
should do worse anywhere else, and my self-respect 
and conscience both require that I should fight the 
battle of my life out here where I have suffered such 
disgraceful defeat.” 




42 $ KNIGHT OT THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

MR. GROWTHER STUMPED.” 

A bout three weeks a "ter the occasioii upon 
which Haldane’s human nature had mani- 
fested itself in such a disastrous manner as he had 
supposed, Mrs. Arnot, Dr. Barstow, and Mr. Ivison 
happened to find themselves together at an evening 
company. 

“ I have been wishing to thank you, Mr. Ivison,” 
said the lady, “ for your just and manly letter in re- 
gard to young Haldane. I think it encouraged him 
very much, and has given him more hopefulness in 
his work. How has he been doing of late ? The 
only reply he makes to my questioning is, * I am 
plodding on.’ ” 

Do you know,” said Mr. Ivison, “ I am begin- 
ning to take quite an interest in that young fellow. 
He has genuine pluck. You cannot understand, 
Mrs. Arnot, what an ordeal he has passed through. 
He is naturally as mettlesome as a young colt, and 
yet day after day he was subjected to words and ac- 
tions that were to him like the cut of a whip.” 

Mr. Ivison,” said Mrs. Arnot, with a sudden 
moisture coming into her eyes, “ I have long felt the 
deepest interest in this young man. In judging any 


MR. GROWTHER STUMPED. 


429 


one I try to consider not only what he does, but all 
the circumstances attending upon his action. Know- 
ing Haldane’s antecedents, and how peculiarly un- 
fitted he was by early life and training for his present 
trials, I think his course since he was last released 
from prison has been very brave,” and she gave a 
brief sketch of his life and mental states, as far as 
a delicate regard for his feelings permitted, from 
that date. 

Dr. Barstow, in his turn, also became interested 
in the youth, not only for his own sake, but also in 
the workings of his mind and his spiritual experi- 
ences. It was the good doctor’s tendency to an- 
alyze every thing and place all psychological mani- 
festations under their'proper theological heads. 

“ I feel that I indirectly owe this youth a large 
debt of gratitude, since his coming to our church 
and his repulse, in the first instance, has led to de- 
cided changes for the better in us all, I trust. But 
his experience, as you have related it, raises some 
perplexing questions. Do you think he is a Chris- 
tian ? ” 

“ I do not know. I think he is,” replied Mrs. 
Arnot. 

** When do you think he became a Christian?” 

“ Still less can I answer that question definitely.’ 

“ But would not one naturally think it was when 
he was conscious of that happy change in the study 
of good old Dr. Marks ? ” 

“ Poor Haldane has been conscious of many changes 
and experiences, but I do not despise or make light 
of any of them. It is certainly sensible to believe 


430 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

that every effect has a cause ; and for one I believe 
that these strange, mystical, and often rich and rap- 
turous experiences, are largely and perhaps wholly 
caused in many instances by the direct action of 
God’s Spirit on the human spirit. Again, it would 
seem tliat men’s religious natures are profoundly 
stirred by human and earthly causes, for the emotion 
ceases with the cause. It appears to me that if 
people would only learn to look at these experiences 
in a sensible way, they would be the better and 
wiser for them. We are thus taught what a grand 
instrument the soul is, and of what divine harmonies 
and profound emotions it is capable when played 
upon by any adequate power. To expect to maintain 
this exaltation with our present nature is like requir- 
ing of the athlete that he never relax his muscles, or 
of the prima donna that she never cease the exquisite 
trill which is but the momentary proof of what her 
present organization is capable. And yet it would 
appear that many, like poor Haldane, are tempted 
on one hand to entertain no Christian hope because 
they cannot produce these deep and happy emo- 
tions ; or, on the other hand, to give up Christian 
hope because these emotions cease in the inevitable 
reaction that follows them. In my opinion it is 
when we accept of Christ as Saviour and Guide we 
become Christians, and a Christian life is the main- 
tenance of this simple yet vital relationship. We 
thus continue branches of the ^ true vine.’ I think 
Haldane has formed this relationship.” 

“ It would seem from your account that he had 
formed it, consciously, but a very brief time since.” 


MR. GROWTHER STUMPED. 


431 


said Dr. Barstow, “ and yet for weeks ptevious he 
had been putting forth what closely resembles Chris- 
tian effort, exercising Christian forbearance, and for 
a time at least enjoying happy spiritual experiences. 
Can you believe that all this is possible to one who 
is yet dead in trespasses and sins ? 

“ My dear Dr. Barstow, I cannot apply your sys- 
tematic theology to all of God’s creatures any more 
than I could apply a rigid and carefully lined-out 
system of parental affection and government to your 
household. I know that you love all of your children, 
both when they are good and when they are bad, and 
that you are ever trying to help the naughty ones 
to be better. I am inclined to think that I could learn 
more sound theology on these points in your nurse- 
ry and dining-room than in your study. I am sure, 
however, that God does not wait till his little bewil- 
dered children reach a certain theological mile-stone 
before reaching out his hand to guide and help them.” 

“ You are both better theologians than I am,” 
said Mr. Ivison, “ and I shall not enter the lists with 
you on that ground ; but I know what mill-life is to 
one of his caste and feeling, and his taking such 
work, and his sticking to it under the circumstances, 
is an exhibition of more pluck than most young men 
possess. And yet it was his only chance, for when 
people get down as low as he was they must take 
any honest work in order to obtain a foot-hold. 
Even now, burdened as he is by an evil name, it is 
difficult to see how he can rise any higher.” 

“Could you not give him a clerkship?” asked 
Mrs. Arnot. 


432 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

“ No, I could not introduce him among my other 
clerks. They would resent it as an insult.” 

You could do this,” said Mrs. Arnot with a 
slight flush, “ but I do not urge it or even ask it. 
You are in a position to show great and generous 
kindness toward this young man. As he who was 
highest stooped to the lowliest, so those high in sta- 
tion and influence can often stoop to the humble 
and fallen with a better grace than those nearer to 
them in rank. If you believe this young man is 
now trustworthy, and that trusting him would make 
him still more so, you could give him a desk in your 
private office, and thus teach your clerks a larger 
charity. The influential and assured in position 
must often take the lead in these matters.” 

Mr. Ivison thought a moment, and then said: 
“ Your proposition is unusual, Mrs. Arnot, but I’ll 
think of it. I make no promises, however.” 

“ Mr. Ivison,” added Mrs. Arnot, in her smiling, 
happy way, ‘ I hope you may make a great deal of 
money out of your business this year; but if, by 
means of it, you can also aid in making a good and 
true man, you will be still better off. Dr. Barstow 
here can tell you how sure such investments are.” 

If I should follow your lead and that of Dr. Bar- 
stow, all my real estate would be in the ‘Celestial 
City,’ ” laughed Mr. Ivison. “ But I have a special 
admiration for the grace of clear grit, and this young 
fellow, in declining his mother’s offer and trying to 
3tand on his feet here in Hillaton, where every one is 
ready to tread him down, shows pluck, whatever else 
is wanting. I’ve had my eye on him for some time, 


MR. GROWTHER STUMPED. 


433 


and Fm about satisfied he’s trying to do right. But 
it is difficult to know what to do for one with his 
ugly reputation. I will see what can be done, how- 
ever.” 

That same evening chilly autumn winds were blow- 
ing without, and Mr. Growther’s passion for a wood 
fire upon the hearth was an indulgence to which 
Haldane no longer objected. The frugal supper was 
over, and the two oddly diverse occupants of the 
quaint old kitchen glowered at the red coals in 
silence, each busy with his own thoughts. At last 
Haldane gave a long deep sigh, which drew to him 
at once Mr. Growther’s small twinkling eyes. 

** Tough old world, isn’t it, for sinners like us?” 
he remarked. 

“ Well, Mr. Growther, Fve got rather tired of in- 
veighing against the world ; Fm coming to think 
that the trouble is largely with myself.” 

“Umph!” snarled the old man, “Fve allers 
knowed the trouble was with me, for of all crabbed, 
cranky, cantankerous, old — ” 

“ Hold on,” cried, Haldane, laughing, “ don’t you 
remember what Mrs. Arnot said about being unjust 
to one’s self? The only person that I have ever 
known you to wrong is Jeremiah Growther, and it 
seems to me that you do treat him outrageously 
sometimes.” 

At the name of Mrs. Arnot the old man’s face 
softened and he rubbed his hands togethei as he 
chuckled, “ How Satan must hate that woman! ” 

“ r was in hopes that her words might lead you 
to be a little juster to yourself,” continued Haldane, 

19 


434 k:night of the nineteenth century. 

** and it has seemed to me that ^ou, as well as I, 
have been in a better mood of late.” 

I don’t take no stock in myself at all,” said Mr. 
Growther emphatically. “ I’m a crooked stick and 
allers will be — a reg’lar old gnarled knotty stick, with 
not ’nuff good timber in it to make a penny whistle. 
That I haven’t been in as cussin* a state as usual, 
isn’t because I think any better of myself, but your 
Mrs. Arnot has set me a-thinkin’ on a new track 
She come to see me one day while you was at the 
mill, and we had a real speret’al tussel. I argufied 
my case in such a way that she couldn’t git round 
it, and I proved to her that I was the dryest and 
crookedest old stick that ever the devil twisted out 
o’ shape when it was a-growin’. On a suddent she 
turned the argerment agin me in a way that has 
stumped me ever since. ‘You are right, Mr. Grow- 
ther,’ she said, ‘ it was the devil and not the Lord 
that twisted you out of shape. Now who’s the 
stronger,’ she says, ‘and who’s goin’ to have his own 
way in the end? Suppose you are very crooked, 
won’t the Lord get all the more glory in making you 
straight, and won’t his victory be all the greater over 
the evil one?’ Says I, ‘Mrs. Arnot, that’s puttin’ 
my case in a new light. If I should be straightened 
out, it would be the awfulest set back Old Nick ever 
had ; and if such a thing should happen he’d never 
feel sure of any one after that.’ Then she turned on 
me kinder sharp, and says she, ‘ What right have 
you to say that God is allers lookin’ round for easy 
work? What would you think of a doctor who 
would take only slight cases, and have nothing to do 


MR. GROWTHER STUMPED. 


435 


with people who were gittin’ dangerous-like ? Isn’t 
Jesus Christ the great physician, and don’t your 
common sense tell you that he is jist as able to cure 
you as a little child ? ’ 

“ I declare I was stumped. Like that ill-man- 
nered cuss in the Scripter who thought his old 
clothes good enough for the weddin’, I was speech- 
less. 

“ But I got a worse knock down than that. Says 
she, ‘ Mr. Growther, I will not dispute all the hard 
things you have said of yourself (you see I had 
beat her on that line of ^rgerment) ; I won’t dis- 
pute all that you say (and I felt a little sot up agin, 
for I didn’t know what she was a-drivin’ at), but,’ 
says she, ‘ I think you’ve got some natural feelin’s. 
Suppose you had a little son, and while he was out 
in the street a wicked man should carry him off and 
treat him so cruelly that, instead of growin’ to be 
strong and fine-lookin’, he should become a puny 
deformed little critter. Suppose at last you should 
hear where he was, and that he was longir ’ to escape 
from the cruel hands of his harsh mastei, who kept 
on a-treatin’ of him worse and worse, would you, his 
father, go and coolly look at him and say, “ If you 
was only a handsome boy, with a strong mind in a 
strong body, I’d deliver you out of this tyrant’s 
clutches and take you back to be my son again ; but 
since you are a poor, weak, deformed little critter, 
that can never do much, or be much. I’ll leave you 
here to be abused and tormented as before,” — is 
that what you would do, Mr. Growther?’ 

Well, she spoke it all so earnest and real-like that 


436 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

I got off my guard, and I jist riz right up from my 
cheer, and I got hold of my heavy old cane there, 
and it seemed as if my hair stood right up on end, I 
was that mad at the old curmudgeon that had my 
boy, and I half shouts, ‘ No ! that ain’t what I’d do 
I’d go for that cuss that stole my boy, and for every 
blow he’d given the little chap. I’d give him a hun- 
dred.’ 

“ ‘ But what would you do with the poor little 
boy ? * she asks. At that I began to choke, my feelin’s 
was so stirred up, and moppin’ my eyes, I said, 
‘ Poor little chap, all beaten and abused out o’ shape ! 
What would I do with him? Why, I couldn’t do 
nuff for him in tryin’ to make him forget all the 
hard times he’d had.’ Then says she, ‘You would 
twit the child with bein’ weak, puny, and deformed, 
would you ? ’ I was now hobblin’ up and down the 
room in a great state of excitement, and says I, 
* Mrs. Arnot, mean a man as I am, I wouldn’t treat 
any human critter so, let alone my own flesh and 
blood, that had been so abused that it makes my 
heart ache to think on’t’ 

“ ‘ Don’t you think you would love the boy a little 
even though he had a hump on his back and his fea- 
tures were thin and sharp and pale?’ ‘ Mrs. Arnot,’ 
says I, moppin’ my eyes agin, ‘ if you say another word 
about the little chap I shall be struck all of a heap, 
fur my heart jist kinder — kinder pains like a tooth- 
ache to do somethin’ for him.’ Then all of a suddent 
she turns on me sharp agin, and says she, ‘ I think 
you are a very inconsistent man, Mr. Growther. You 
have been runnin’ yourself down, and yet you clainj 


MR. GROWTHER STUMPED. 


437 


to be better than your Maker. He calls himself 
our Heavenly Father, and yet you are sure that you 
have a kinder and more fatherly heart than he. You 
are one of his little, weak, deformed children, twisted 
all out of shape, as you have described, by his enemy 
and yours, and yet you the same as say that you 
would act a great deal more like a true father toward 
your child than he will toward his. You virtually 
say that you would rescue your child and be pitiful 
and tender toward him, but that your Heavenly 
Father will leave you in the clutches of the cruel 
enemy, or exact conditions that you cannot comply 
with before doing any thing for you. Haven’t you 
read in the Bible that Like as a father pitieth his 
children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him ” ? 
You think very meanly of yourself, but you ap- 
pear to think more meanly of God. Where is your 
warrant for doing so ? ’ 

“ The truth bust in on me like the sunlight into 
this old kitchen when we open the shutters of a 
summer mornin’. I saw that I was so completely 
floored in the argerment, and had made such a blasted 
old fool of myself all these years that I justTooked 
around for a knot-hole to crawl into. I didn’t know 
which way to look, but at last I looked at her, and 
my withered old heart gave a great thump when I 
saw two tears a-standin’ in her eyes. Then she 
jumps up and gives me that warm hand o’ her’n and 
says : ‘ Mr. Growther, whenever you wish to know 
how God feels toward you, think how you felt toward 
that little chap that was abused and beaten all out 
o’ shape,’ and she was gone. Well, the upshot of it all 


138 KmCHT OP THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

is that I don’t think a bit better of myself— not one 
bit — but that weakly little chap, with a peaked face 
and a hump on his back, that Mrs. Arnot made so 
real -like that I see him a-lookin’ at me out of the 
cheer there half the time — he’s a makin’ me better 
acquainted with the Lord, for the Lord knows I’ve got 
a hump on my back and humps all over ; but I keep 
a-sayin’ to myself, ‘ Like as a father pitieth his chil- 
dren,’ and I don’t feel near as much like cussin’ as I 
used to. That little chap that Mrs. Arnot described 
is doin’ me a sight o’ good, and if I could find some 
poor little critter just like him, with no one to look 
after him. I’d take him in and do for him in a minit.” 

Mr. Growther,” said Haldane, huskily, “you 
have found that poor misshapen, dwarfed creature 
that I fear will never attain the proportions of a 
true man. Of course you see through Mrs. Arnot’s 
imagery. In befriending me you are caring for 
one who is weak and puny indeed.” 

“ Oh, you won’t answer,” said Mr. Growther with a 
laugh. “ I can see that your humps is growin’ wisibly 
less every day, and you’re too big and broad-shoul- 
dered for me to be a pettin’ and a yearnin’ over. 1 
want jest such a peaked little chap as Mrs. Arnot 
pictured out, and that’s doin’ me such a sight o’ 
good.” 

Again the two occupants of the old kitchen gazed 
at the fire for a long time in silence, and again there 
came from the young man the same long-drawn sigh 
that had attracted Mr. Growther’s attention before. 

“ That’s the second time,” he remarked. 

** I was thinking, said Haldane, rising to retire 


MR.GROWTHER STUMPED, 


439 

“ whether I shall ever have better work than this 
odious routine at the mill.” 

Mr Growther pondered over the question a few 
minutes, and then said sententiously : I’m inclined 
to think the Lord gives us as good work as we’re 
cap’ble of doin’. He’ll promote you when you’ve 
growed a little more.” 


440 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


GROWTH. 



'HE next morning Haldane received a message 


X directing him to report at Mr. Ivison's private 
office during the noon recess. 

Be seated,” said that gentleman as the young 
man, wearing an anxious and somewhat surprised ex- 
pression, entered hesitatingly and diffidently. You 
need not look so troubled, I have not sent for you 
to find fault — quite the reverse. You have ‘ a friend 
at court/ as the saying goes. Not that you needed 
one particularly, for I have had my eye upon you 
myself, and for some days past have been inclined to 
give you a lift. But last evening Mrs. Arnot spoke 
in your behalf, and through her words I have been 
led to take the following step. For reasons that 
perhaps you can understand, it would be difficult for 
me to give you a desk among my other clerks. I 
am not so sensitive, now that I know your better 
aims, and it is my wish that you take that desk there, 
in this, my private office. Your duties will be very 
miscellaneous. Sometimes I shall employ you as my 
errand-boy, again I may intrust you with important 
and confidential business. I stipulate that you per^ 
form the humblest task as readily as any other.” 


GRO WTH. 


441 


Haldane’s face flushed with pleasure, and he said 
warmly, ** I am not in a position, sir, to consider any 
honest work beneath me, and after your kindness I 
shall regard any service I can render you as a privi- 
lege.” 

A neat answer,” laughed Mr. Ivison. ** If you 
do your work as well I shall be satisfied. Pluck and 
good sense will make a man of you yet. I want you 
to understand distinctly that it has been your readi- 
ness and determination, not only to work, but to do 
any kind of work, that has won my good-will. Here’s 
a check for a month’s salary in advance. Be here 
to-morrow at nine, dressed suitably for your new 
position. Good morning.” 

“ Halloo ! What s h<vppened ? ” asked Mr. Grow- 
ther as Haldane came in that evening with face 
aglow with gladness and excitement. 

According to your theory I’ve been promoted 
sure,” laughed the youth, and he related the unex- 
pected event of the day. 

“ That’s jest like Mrs. Arnot,” said Mr. Growther, 
rubbing his hands as he ever did when pleased ; 
“ she’s allers givin’ some poor critter a boost. 
T’other day ’twas me, now agin it’s you, and they 
say she’s helpin’ lots more along. St. Peter will 
have to open the gate wide when she comes in with 
her crowd. ’Pears to me sometimes that I can fairly 
hear Satan a-gnashin’ of his teeth over that woman. 
She’s the wust enemy he has in town.” 

“ I wish I might show her how grateful I am some 
day,” said Haldane, with moistened eyes ; but I 
clearly foresee that I can never repay her.” 

19* 


442 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

** No matter if you can’t,” replied the old maa 
** She don’t want any pay. It’s her natur’ to do 
these things.” 

Haldane gave his whole mind to the mastery of 
his new duties, and after a few natural blunders 
speedily acquired a facility in the diverse tasks 
allotted him. In a manner that was perfectly un- 
obtrusive and respectful he watched his employer, 
studied his methods and habit of mind, and thus 
gained the power of anticipating his wishes. Mr. 
Ivison began to find his office and papers kept 
in just the order he liked, the temperature main- 
tained at a pleasant medium, and to receive many 
little nameless attentions that added to his comfort 
and reduced the wear and tear of life to a hurried 
business-man ; and when in emergencies Haldane 
was given tasks that required brains, he proved that 
he possessed a fair share of them. 

After quite a lapse of time Mr. Ivison again hap- 
pened to meet Mrs. Arnot, and he said to her : 

“ Haldane thinks you did him a great kindness 
in suggesting our present arrangement ; but I am in- 
clined to think you did me a greater, for you have 
no idea how useful the young fellow is making him- 
self to me.” 

“ Then you will have to find a new object of be- 
nevolence,” answered the lady, ** or you will have 
all your reward in this world.” 

There it is again,” said Mr. Ivison, with his 
hearty laugh, “ you and Dr. Barstow give a man no 
peace. I’m going to take breath before I strike in 
again.” 


GROWTH. 


443 

In his new employment, Haldane, from the first, 
had found considerable leisure on his hands, and 
after a little thought decided to review carefully the 
studies over which he had passed so superficially in 
his student days. 

Mr. Growther persisted in occupying the kitchen, 
leaving what had been designed as the parlor or sit- 
ting-room of his cottage to dust and damp. With 
his permission the young man fitted this up as a 
study, and bought a few popular works on science, as 
the nucleus of a library. After supper he read the 
evening paper to Mr. Growther, who soon fell into a 
doze, and then Haldane would steal away to his own 
quarters and pursue with zest, until a late hour; 
some study that had once seemed to him utterly dry 
and unattractive. 

Thus the months glided rapidly and serenely away, 
and he was positively happy in a mode of life that 
he once would have characterized as odiously hum- 
drum. The terrible world, whose favor had formerly 
seemed essential, and its scorn unendurable, was al- 
most forgotten ; and as he continued atTiis duties so 
steadily and unobtrusively the hostile world began 
to unbend gradually its frowning aspect toward him. 
Those whom he daily met in business commenced 
with a nod of recognition, and eventually ended with 
a pleasant word. At church an increasing number 
began to speak to him, not merely as a Christian 
duty, but because the young man’s sincere and ear- 
nest manner interested them and inspired respect. 

The fact that he recognized that he was under a 
cloud and did not try to attract attention, worked in 


,44 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

his favor. He never asked the alms of a kindly word 
or glance, by looking appealingly to one and another. 
It became his habit to walk with his eyes downcast 
not speaking to nor looking toward any one unless 
first addressed. At the same time his bearing was 
manly and erect, and marked by a certain quiet 
dignity which inevitably characterizes all who are 
honestly trying to do right. 

Because he asked so little of society it was the 
more disposed to give, and from a point of bare tol 
eration it passed on to a willingness to patronize 
with a faint encouraging smile. And yet it was the 
general feeling that one whose name had been so 
sadly besmirched must be kept at more than arm’s 
length. 

“ He may get to heaven,” said an old lady who 
was remarking upon his regular attendance at church, 
“ but he can never hope to be received in good soci- 
ety again.” 

In the meantime the isolated youth was finding 
such an increasing charm in the companionship of 
the gifted minds who spoke to him from the printed 
pages of his little library that he felt the deprivation 
less and less. 

But an hour with Mrs. Arnot was one of his chief 
pleasures, to which he looked forward with glad an 
ticipation. For a long time he could not bring him 
self to go to her house or to take the risk of meeting 
any of her other guests, and in order to overcome 
his reluctance she occasionally set apart an evening 
for him alone and was “ engaged ” to all others. 
These were blessed hours to the lonely young fellow. 


GROWTH. 


445 


and their memory made him stronger and more 
hopeful for days thereafter. 

In his Christian experience he was gaining a quiet 
serenity and confidence. He had fully settled it in 
his mind, as Mrs. Arnot had suggested, that Jesus 
Christ was both willing and able to save him, and 
he simply trusted and tried to follow. 

Come,” said that lady to him one evening, ** it’s 
time you found a nook in the vineyard and went to 
work.” 

He shook his head emphatically as he replied, 
I do not feel myself either competent or worthy 
Besides, who would listen to me ? ” 

“ Many might with profit. You can carry mes- 
sages from Mr. Ivison, can you not take a message 
from your Divine Master ? I have thought it all 
over, and can tell you where you will be listened to 
at least, and where you may do much good. I went, 
last Sunday, to the same prison in which I visited 
you, and I read to the inmates. It would be a moral 
triumph for you, Egbert, to go back there as a Chris- 
tian man and with the honest purpose of doing good. 
It would be very pleasant for me to think af you at 
work there every Sabbath. Make the attempt, to 
please me, if for no better reason.” 

“ That settles the question, Mrs. Arnot,” said Hal- 
dane, with a troubled smile. “ I would try to preach 
in Choctaw, if you requested it, and I fear all that 
I can say ‘ out o’ my own head,’ as Mr. Growther 
would put it, will be worse than Choctaw. But I 
can at least read to the prisoners ; that is,” he added, 
with downcast eyes and a flush of his old shame, “ if 


446 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

they will listen to me, whicn I much doubt. You, 
with your large generous sympathies, can never un- 
derstand how greatly I am despised, even by my 
own class.” 

“ Please remember that I am of your class now, 
for you are of the household of faith. I know what 
you mean, Egbert. I am glad that you are so diffi- 
dent and so little inclined to ask on the ground of 
your Christian profession that the past be over- 
looked. If there is one thing that disgusts me more 
than another it is the disposition to make one’s re- 
ligion a stepping-stone to earthly objects and the 
means of forcing upon others a familiarity or a re- 
lationship that is offensive to them. I cannot help 
doubting a profession of faith that is put to such 
low uses. 1 know that you have special reason for 
humility, but you must not let it develop into timid- 
ity. All I ask is that you read to such poor crea- 
tures in the prison as will listen to you a chapter in 
the Bible, and explain it as well as you can, and 
then read something else that you think will interest 
them.” 

Haldane made the attempt, and met, at first, as he 
feared, with but indifferent success. Even criminals 
looked at him askance as he came in the guise of a 
religious teacher. But his manner was so unassum- 
ing, and the spirit “ I am better than thou ” was so 
conspicuously absent, that a few were disarmed, and 
partly out of curiosity, and partly to kill the time 
that passed so slowly, they gathered at his invitation. 
He sat down among them as if one of them, and in 
a voice that trembled with diffidence read a chapter 


GROWTH. 


447 


from the gospels Since he ** put on no airs, * as 
they said, one and another drew near until all the 
inmates of the jail were grouped around him. Hav- 
ing finished the chapter, Haldane closed the Bible 
and said : 

** I do not feel competent to explain this chapter. 
Perhaps many of you understand it better than I 
do. I did not even feel that I was worthy to come 
here and read the chapter to you, but the Christian 
lady who visited you last Sunday asked me to come, 
and I would do any thing for her. She visited me 
when I was a prisoner like you, and through her in- 
fluence I am trying to be a better man. I know, 
my friends, from sad experience, that when we get 
down under men’s feet, and are sent to places like 
these, we lose heart and hope ; we feel that there is 
no chance for us to get up again, we are tempted to 
be despairing and reckless ; but through the kindness 
and mercy of that good lady, Mrs. Arnot, I learned 
of a kindness and mercy greater even than hers. 
The world may hate us, scorn us, and even trample 
us down, and if we will be honest with ourselves we 
must admit that we have given it some reason to do 
all this — at least I feel that I have — but the world 
can’t keep us down, and what is far worse than the 
world, the evil in our own hearts can’t keep us 
down, if we ask Jesus Christ to help us up. I am 
finding this out by experience, and so know the 
truth of what I am saying. This Bible tells us 
about this strong, merciful One, this Friend of pub- 
licans and sinners, and if you would like me to come 
here Sunday afternoons and read about him, I will 


448 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

do SO very gladly but I don’t wish to force myself 
upon you if I’m not wanted.” 

“ Come, my hearty, come every time,” said an old 
sailor, with a resounding oath. “ ’Tain’t likely I’ll, 
ever ship with your captain, for sech as I’ve come to 
be couldn’t pass muster. Howsumever, its kind o’ 
comfortin’ to hear one talk as if there was plenty 
of sea-room, even when a chap knows he’s drivin 
straight on the rocks.” 

Come, oh, come again,” entreated the tremulous 
voice of one who was crouching a little back of his 
chair. 

Haldane turned, and with a start recognized the 
fair young girl, whose blue eyes and Madonna-like 
face had, for a moment, even in the agony of his 
own shame, secured his attention while in the police 
court, more than a year before. She was terribly 
changed, and yet by that strange principle by which 
we keep our identity through all mutations, Hal- 
dane knew that she was the same, and felt that by 
a glance he could almost trace back her life through 
its awful descent to the time when she was a beauti- 
ful and innocent girl. As a swift dark tide might 
sweep a summer pinnace from its moorings, and dash 
it on the rocks until it became a crushed and shape- 
less thing, so passion or most untoward circumstances 
had suddenly drawn this poor young creature among 
coarse, destructive vices that had shattered the deli 
cate, womanly nature in one short year into utter 
wreck. 

** Come again,” she whispered in response to Hal- 
dane’s glance ; come soon, or else I shall be in my 


G/io wth 


. 449 


grave, and Tve got the awful fear that it is the 
mouth of the bottomless pit. Otherwise I’d be glad 
to be in it.” 

“ Poor child ! ” said Haldane, tears coming into 
his eyes. 

" Ah ! ” she gasped, ** will God pity me like that ? ” 

** Yes, for the Bible says, ‘ The Lord is very 
pitiful and of tender mercy.’ My own despairing 
thoughts have taught me to look for all of God s 
promises.” 

‘You know nothing of the depths into which I 
have fallen,” she said in a low tone ; “ I can see that 
in your face.” 

Again Haldane ejaculated, “ Poor child ! ” with a 
heartfelt emphasis that did more good than the long- 
est homily. Then finding the Bible story which com- 
mences, “ And, behold, a woman in the city, which 
was a sinner,” he turned a leaf down saying, 

“ I am neither wise enough nor good enough te 
guide you, but I know that Mrs. Arnot will come 
and see you. I shall leave my Bible with you, and, 
until she comes, read where I have marked.” 

Mrs. Arnot did come, and the pure, high-born 
woman shut the door of the narrow cell, and taking 
the head of her fallen sister into her lap, listened with 
responsive tears to the piteous story, as it was told 
with sighs, sobs, and strong writhings of anguish. 

As the girl became calmer and her mind emerged 
fiom the chaos of her tempestuous and despairing 
sorrow, Mrs. Arnot led her, as it were, to the very 
feet of Jesus of Nazareth, and left her there wi^h 
these words 


^50 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

** He came to seek and save just such as you are 
— the lost. He is reaching down his rescuing hand 
of love to you, and when you grasp it in simple con- 
fiding trust you are saved.” 

Before the week closed, the poor creature forever 
turned her face away from the world in which she 
had so deeply sinned and suffered ; but before she 
departed on the long journey, he who alone can 
grant to the human soul full absolution, had said to 
her, “ Thy sins are forgiven ; go in peace.” 

As Mrs. Arnot held her dying head she whispered; 
“ Tell him that it was his tears of honest sympathy 
that first gave me hope.” 

That message had a vital influence over Hal- 
dane’s subsequent life. Indeed these words of the 
poor dying waif were potent enough to shape all his 
future career. He was taught by them the magnetic 
power of sympathy, and that he who in the depths 
of his heart feels for his fellow-creatures, can help 
them. He had once hoped that he would dazzle 
men’s eyes by the brilliancy of his career, but he 
had long since concluded that he must plod along 
the lowly paths of life. Until his visit to the prison 
and its results the thought had scarcely occurred to 
him that he could help others. He had felt that he 
had been too sorely wounded himself ever to be 
more than an invalid in the world’s hospital ; but he 
now began to learn that his very sin and suffering 
enabled him to approach nearer to those who were, 
as he was once, on the brink of despair or in the 
apathy of utter discouragement, and to aid them 
more effectively because of his kindred experience. 


GRO WTH, 


45 » 


The truth that he, in the humblest possible way, 
could engage in the noble work for which he re- 
vered Mrs. Arnot, came like a burst of sunlight 
into his shadowed life, and his visits to the prison 
were looked forward to with increasing zest. 

From reading the chapter merely he came to ven- 
ture on a few comments. Then questions were 
asked, and he tried to answer some, and frankly 
said he could not answer others. But these ques- 
tions stimulated his mind and led to thought and 
wider reading. To his own agreeable surprise, as 
well as that of his prison class, he occasionally was 
able to bring, on the following Sabbath, a very satis- 
factory answer to some of the questions ; and this 
suggested the^ truth that all questions could be 
answered if only time and wisdom enough could be 
brought to bear upon them. 

He gradually acquired a facility in expressing his 
thoughts, and, better still, he had thoughts to ex- 
press. Some of the prisoners, who were in durance 
but for a brief time, asked him to take a class in the 
Guy-Street Mission Chapel. 

‘‘ They will scarcely want me there as a teacher,” 
he said with a slight flush. 

But the superintendent and pastor, after some hesi- 
tation and inquiry, concluded they did want him 
there, and with some ex-prisoners as a nucleus, he 
unobtrusively formed a class near the door. The 
two marked characteristics of his Christian efforts— 
downright sincerity and sympathy — were like strong, 
far-reaching hands, and his class began to grow un- 
til it swamped the small neighboring classes with 


452 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

uncouth and unkempt-looking creatures that were 
drawn by the voice that asserted their manhood and 
womanhood in spite of their degradation. Finally, 
before another year ended, a large side-room was set 
apart for Haldane and his strange following, and he 
made every one that entered it, no matter how de- 
based, believe that there were possibilities of good 
in them yet, and he was able to impart this encour- 
truth because he so thoroughly believed it 
himself. 

As he stood before that throng of publicans and 
sinners, gathered from the slums of the city, and, 
with his fine face lighted up with thought and sym- 
pathy, spoke to them the truth in such a way that 
they understood it and felt its power, one could 
scarcely have believed that but two years before he 
had been dragged from a drunken brawl to the com- 
mon jail. The explanation is simple — he had fol- 
lowed closely that same divine Master who had 
taught the fishermen of Galilee. 


LAURA ROMEYN. 


453 


CHAPTER XLV. 

LAURA ROMEYN. 

M rs. HALDANE and her daughters found 
European life so decidedly to their taste that 
it was doubtful whether they would return for sev- 
eral years. The son wrote regularly to his mother, 
for he had accepted of the truth of Mrs. Arnot’s 
words that nothing could excuse him from the sacred 
duties which he owed to her. As his fortunes im- 
proved and time elapsed without the advent of more 
disgraceful stories, she also began to respond as fre- 
quently and sympathetically as could be expected of 
one taking her views of life. She was at last brought 
to acquiesce in his plan of remaining at Hillaton, if 
not to approve of it, and after receiving one or two 
letters from Mrs. Arnot, she was inclined to believe 
in the sincerity of his Christian profession. She be- 
gan to share in the old lady’s view already referred 
to, that he might reach heaven at last, but could 
never be received in good society again. 

Egbert is so different from us, my dears,” she 
would sigh to her daughters, “ that I suppose we 
should not judge him by our standards. I suppo.se 
he is doing as well as he ever will — as well indeed 
as his singularly unnatural disposition permits. * 


454 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

It did not occur to the lady that she was a trifle 
unnatural and unchristian herself in permitting jeal- 
ousy to creep into her heart, because Mrs. Arnot had 
wielded a power for good over her son which she 
herself had failed to exert. 

She instructed her lawyer, however, to pay to him 
an annuity that was far beyond his needs in his 
present frugal way of living. 

This ample income enabled him at once to carry 
out a cherished purpose, which had been forming 
in his mind for several months, and which he now 
broached to Mrs. Arnot. 

“ For the last half year,” he said, “ I have thought 
a great deal over the possibilities that life offers 
to one situated as I am. I have tried to discover 
where I can make my life-work, maimed and defec- 
tive as it ever must be, most effective, and it has 
seemed to me that I could accomplish more as a 
physician than in any other calling. In this charac- 
ter I could naturally gain access to those who are in 
distress of body and mind, but who are too poor to 
pay for ordinary attendance. There are hundreds 
in this city, especially little children, that, through 
vice, ignorance, or poverty never receive proper at- 
tention in illness. My services would not be refused 
by this class, especially if they were gratuitous.” 

“You should charge for your visits, as a rule,” 
said wise Mrs. Arnot. “ Never give charity unless 
it is absolutely necessary.” 

“ Well, I could charge so moderately that my at- 
tendance would not be a burden. I am very grate- 
ful to Mr. Ivison for the position he gave me, but I 


LAURA ROMEYN, 


455 


would like to do something more and better in life 
than I can accomplish as his clerk. A physician 
among the poor has so many chances to speak the 
truth to those who might otherwise never hear it. 
Now this income from my father’s estate would en- 
able me to set about the necessary studies at once, 
and the only question in my mind is, will they re- 
ceive me at the university?” 

Egbert,” said Mrs. Arnot, with one of those 
sudden illuminations of her face which he so loved 
to see, “ do you remember what I said long ago 
when you were a disheartened prisoner, about my 
ideal of knighthood ? If you keep on you will ful- 
fill it.” 

I remember it well,” he replied, “ but you are 
mistaken. My best hope is to find, as you said 
upon another occasion, my own little nook in the 
vineyard, and quietly do my work there.” 

After considerable hesitation the faculty of the 
university received Haldane as a student, and Mr. 
Ivison parted with him very reluctantly. His studies 
for the past two years, and several weeks of careful 
review, enabled him to pass the examirfations re- 
quired in order to enter the Junior year of the col- 
lege course. 

As his name appeared among those who might 
graduate in two years, 4he world still further relaxed 
its rigid and forbidding aspect, and not a few took 
pains to manifest to him their respect for his reso- 
lute upward course. 

But he maintained his old, distant, unobtrusive 
manner, and no one was obliged to recognize, much 


456 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

less to show, any special kindness to him, unless they 
chose to do so. He evidently shrank with a morbid 
sensitiveness from any social contact with those 
who, in remembrance of his past history, might shrink 
from him. But he had not been at the university 
very long before Mrs. Arnot overcame this diffidence 
so far as to induce him to meet with certain manly 
fellows of his class at her house. 

In all the frank and friendly interchange of thought 
between Mrs. Arnot and the young man there was 
one to whom, by tacit consent, they did not refer, 
except in the most casual manner, and that was 
Laura Romeyn. Haldane had not seen her since 
the time she stumbled upon him in his character 
of wood-sawyer. He kept her image in a distant 
and doubly-locked chamber of his heart, and seldom 
permitted his thoughts to go thither. Thus the 
image had faded into a faint yet lovely outline which 
he had learned to look upon with a regret that was 
now scarcely deep enough to be regarded as pain. 
She had made one or two brief visits to her aunt, but 
he had taken care never to meet her. He had learn, 
ed incidentally, however, that she had lost her father, 
and that her mother was far from well. 

When calling upon Mrs. Arnot one blustering 
March evening, toward the close of his Junior year, 
that lady explained her anxious clouded face by say- 
ing that her sister, Mrs. Romeyn, was very ill, and 
after a moment added, half in soliloquy, “ What 
would she do without Laura ? " 

From this he gathered that the young girl was a 
loving daughter and a faithful nurse, and the image 


LAURA ROMEYN. 


457 

of a pale, yet lovely watcher rose before him with 
dangerous frequency and distinctness. 

A day or two after he received a note from Mrs. 
Arnot, informing him that she was about to leave 
home for a visit to her invalid sister, and might be 
absent several weeks. Her surmise proved correct, 
and when she returned Laura came with her, and 
the deep mourning of the orphan’s dress but faintly 
reflected the darker sorrow that shrouded her heart. 
When, a few sabbaths after her arrival, her vailed 
figure passed up the aisle of the church, he bowed 
his head in as sincere sympathy as one person can 
give for the grief of another. 

For a long time he did not venture to call on 
Mrs. Arnot, and then came only at her request. To 
his great relief, he did not see Laura, for he felt that, 
conscious of her great loss and the memories of the 
past, he should be speechless in her presence. To 
Mrs. Arnot he said : 

“Your sorrow has seemed to me such a sacred 
thing that I felt that any reference to it on my part 
would be like a profane touch ; but I was sure you 
would not misinterpret my silence or my absence, 
and would know that you were never long absent 
from my thoughts.” 

He was rewarded by the characteristic lighting up 
of her face as she said : 

“ Hillaton would scarcely give you credit for such 
delicacy of feeling, Egbert, but you arc fulfilling 
my faith in you. Neither have I forgotten you and 
your knightly conflict because I have not seen or 
written to you. You know well that my heart and 
ao 


45 $ KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

hands have been full. And now a very much longer 
time must elapse before we can meet again. In her 
devotion to her mother my niece has overtaxed her 
strength, and her physical and mental depression is 
so great that our physician strongly recommends 
a year abroad. You can see how intensely occu- 
pied I have been in preparations for our hurried 
departure. We sail this week. I shall see your 
mother, no doubt, and I am glad I can tell her that 
which I should be proud to hear of a son of mine.'* 

The year that followed was a long one to Hal- 
dane. He managed to keep the even tenor of his 
way, but it was often as the soldier makes his weary 
march in the enemy's country, . fighting for and 
holding, step by step, with difficulty. His intense 
application in his first year of study and the excite- 
ments of the previous years at last told upon him, 
and he often experienced days of extreme lassitude 
and weariness. At one time he was quite ill, and 
then he realized how lonely and isolated he was. He 
still kept his quarters at the hermitage, but Mr. 
Growther, with the kindest intentions, was too old 
and decrepit to prove much of a nurse. 

In his hours of enforced idleness his imagination 
began to retouch the shadowy image of Laura 
Romeyn with an ideal beauty. In his pain and 
weakness her character of watcher — in which her 
self-sacrificing devotion had been so great as to im- 
pair her health — was peculiarly attractive. She be- 
came to him a pale and lovely saint, too remote 
and sacred for his human love, and yet sufficiently 
human to continually haunt his mind with a vague 


LAURA ROMEYN. 


459 


and regretful pain that he could never reach her 
side. He now learned from its loss how valuable 
Mrs. Arnot’s society had been to him. Her letters, 
which were full and moderately frequent, could not 
take the place of her quiet yet inspiriting voice. 

He was lonely, and he recognized the fact. While 
there were hundreds now in Hillaton who wished 
him well, and respected him for his brave struggle, 
he was too shadowed by disgraceful memories to be 
received socially into the homes that he would care 
to visit. Some of the church people invited him 
out of a sense of duty, but he recognized their 
motive, and shrank from such constrained courtesy 
with increasing sensitiveness. 

But, though he showed human weakness and gave 
way to long moods of despondency, at times inclin- 
ing to murmur bitterly at his lot, he suffered no 
serious reverses. He patiently, even in the face 
of positive disinclination, maintained hijs duties. 
He remembered how often the Divine Man, in his 
shadowed life, went apart for prayer, and honestly 
tried to imitate this example, so specially suited to 
one as maimed and imperfect as himself. 

He found that his prayers were answered, that the 
strong Friend to whom he had allied his weakness 
did not fail him. He was sustained through the 
dark days, and his faith eventually brought him 
peace and serenity. He gained in patience and 
strength, and with better health came renewed hope- 
fulness. 

Although not a brilliant student, he was able to 
complete his university course and graduate with 


46o knight of the nineteenth century. 

credit. He then took the first vacation that he had 
enjoyed for years, and, equipping himself with fishing 
rod and a few favorite authors, he buried himself in 
the mountains of Maine. 

His prison and mission classes missed him sadly. 
Mr. Growther found that he could no longer live a 
hermit’s life, and began in good earnest to look for 
the “ little, peaked-faced chap ” that had grown to 
be more and more of a reality to him ; but the rest 
of Hillaton almost forgot that Haldane had ever 
existed. 

In the autumn he returned, brown and vigorous, 
and entered upon his studies at the medical school 
connected with the university with decided zest. 
To his joy he found a letter from Mrs. Arnot, inform- 
ing him that the health of her niece was fully re- 
stored, and that they were about to return. And 
yet it was with misgivings that he remembered that 
Laura would henceforth be an inmate of Mrs. Ar- 
not’s home. As a memory, however beautiful, she 
was too shadowy to disturb his peace. Would this 
be true if she had fulfilled all the rich promises of 
her girlhood, and he saw her often ? 

With a foreboding of future trouble he both 
dreaded and longed to see once more the maiden 
who had once so deeply stirred his heart, and who 
in the depths of his disgrace had not scorned him 
when accidentally meeting him in the guise and at 
the tasks of a common laborer. 

It was with a quickened pulse that he read in 
the Spy, one Monday evening, that Mrs. Arnot and 
niece had arrived in town. It was with a quicker 


LAURA ROMEYN. 


461 


pulse that he received a note from her a few days 
later asking him to call that evening, and adding that 
two or three other young men whom he knew to be 
her especial favorites would be present. 

Because our story has confined itself chiefly to 
the relations existing between Haldane and Mrs. 
Arnot, it must not be forgotten that her active sym- 
pathies were enlisted in behalf of many others, some 
of whom were almost equally attached to her and 
she to them. 

After a little thought Haldane concluded that 
he would much prefer that his first interview with 
Laura should be in the presence of others, for he 
could then keep in the background without exciting 
remark. 

He sincerely hoped that when he saw her he 
might find that her old power over him was a broken 
spell, and that the lovely face which had haunted 
him all these years, growing more beautiful with 
time, was but the creation of his own fancy. He 
was sure she would still be pretty, but if that were 
all he could go on his way without a regretful 
thought. But if the shy maiden, whose half-entreat- 
ing, compassionate tones had interrupted the harsh 
jasping of his saw years ago, were the type of the 
woman whom he should meet that evening, might 
not the bitterest punishment of his folly be still be- 
fore him ? 

He waited till sure that the other guests had ar- 
rived, and then entered to meet, as he believed, 
either a hopeless thraldom or complete disenchant- 
ment 


462 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

As he crossed the threshold of the parlor the 
pleasure of seeing Mrs. Arnot again, and of re- 
ceiving her cordial greeting, obliterated all other 
thoughts from his mind. 

He had, however, but a moment's respite, for the 
lady said : 

“ Laura, my friend Mr. Haldane." 

He turned and saw, by actual vision, the face that 
in fancy he had so often looked upon. It was not the 
face that he expected to see at all. The shy, blue- 
eyed maiden, who might have reminded one of a 
violet half hidden among the grass, had indeed van- 
ished, but an ordinary pretty woman had not taken 
her place. 

He felt this before he had time to consciously ob- 
serve it, and bowed rather low to hide his burning 
face ; but she frankly held out her hand and said, 
though with somewhat heightened color also : 

‘‘ Mr. Haldane, I am glad to meet you again." 

Then, either to give him time to recover himself, 
or else, since the interruption was over, she was 
glad to resume the conversation that had been sus- 
pended, she turned to her former companions. Mrs. 
Arnot also left him to himself a few moments, and 
by a determined effort he sought to calm the tumul- 
tuous riot of his blood. He was not phlegmatic on 
any occasion ; but even Mrs. Arnot could not un- 
derstand why he should be so deeply moved by 
this meeting. She ascribed it to the painful and 
humiliating memories of the past, and then dis- 
missed his manner from her mind. He speedily 
gained self-control, and, as is usual with strong 


LAURA ROAfEVA. 


463 

natures, became unusuall) quiet and undemonstra- 
tive. Only in the depths of his dark eyes could one 
have caught a glimpse of the troubled spirit within, 
for it was troubled with a growing consciousness of 
an infinite loss. 


i64 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURy. 


CHAPTER XLVl. 


MISJUDGED. 


HE young men who were Mrs. ArnoPs guests 



A were naturally attracted to Laura’s side, and 
she speedily proved that she possessed the rare 
power of entertaining several gentlemen at the same 
time, and with such grace and tact as to make each 
one feel that his presence was both welcome and 
needed in the circle. 

Mrs. Arnot devoted herself to Haldane, and showed 
how genuine was her interest in him by taking up his 
life where his last letter left it, and asking about all 
that had since occurred. Indeed, with almost a 
mother’s sympathy, she led him to speak of the ex- 
periences of the entire year. 

“ It seems to me,” he said, “ that I have scarcely 
more than held my ground.” 

“To hold one’s ground, at times requires more 
courage, more heroic patience and fortitude, than any 
other effort we can make. I have been told that 
soldiers can charge against any odds better than they 
can simply and coolly stand their ground. But I can 
see that you have been making progress. You have 
graduated with honor. You are surely winning es- 


MISJUDGED. 


465 

teem and confidence. You have kept your faith in 
God, and maintained your peculiar usefulness to a 
class that so few can reach : perhaps you are doing 
more good than any of us, by proving that it is a 
fact and not a theory that the fallen can rise/* 

*‘You are in the world, but not of it,” he said 
and then, as if anxious to change the subject, asked, 
“ Did you see my mother ? ” 

Although Mrs. Arnot did not intend it, there was 
a slight constraint in her voice and manner as she 
replied : “ Y es, I took especial pains to see her be- 
fore I returned, and went out of my way to do so. I 
wished to assure her how well you were doing, and 
how certain you were to retrieve the past, all of 
which, of course, she was very glad to hear.” 

“Did she send me no message?” he asked, in- 
stinctively feeling that something was wrong. 

“ She said that she wrote to you regularly, and so, 
of course, felt that there was no need of sending any 
verbal messages.” 

“ Was she not cordial to you ? ” asked the young 
man, with a dark frown. 

“ She was very polite, Egbert. I think she mis- 
understands me a little.” 

His face flushed with indignation, and after a mo- 
ment’s thought he said bitterly, and with something 
like contempt, “ Poor mother ! she is to be pitied.” 

Mrs. Arnot’s face became very grave, and almost 
severe, and she replied, with an emphasis which he 
never forgot, 

“ She is to be loved ; she is to be cherished with 


466 KNIGH7' OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

the most delicate consideration and forbearance, and 
honored — yes, honored — because she is your mother. 
You, as her son, should never say, nor permit any 
one to say a word against her. Nothing can absolve 
you from this sacred duty. Remember this as you 
hope to be a true man." 

This was Mrs. Arnot’s return for the small jealousy 
of her girlhood’s friend. 

He bowed his head, and after a moment replied : 
“ Mrs. Arnot, I feel, I know, you are right. I thank 
you.” 

“ Now you are my knight again,” she said, her 
face suddenly lighting up. “ But come ; let us join 
the others, for they seem to have hit upon a very 
mirthful and animated discussion.” 

Laura’s eye and sympathies took them in at once 
as they approached, and enveloped them in the genial 
and magnetic influences which she seemed to have 
the power of exerting. Although naturally and 
deeply interested in his interview with Mrs. Arnot, 
Haldane’s eyes and thoughts had been drawn fre- 
quently and irresistibly to the object of his old-time 
^^assion. She was, indeed, very different frcm what 
he had expected. The diffident maiden, so slight in 
form and shy in manner, had not developed into a 
drooping lily of a woman, suggesting that she must 
always have a manly support of some kind near at 
hand. Still less had she become a typical belle, and 
the aggressive society girl who captures and amuses 
herself with her male admirers with the grace and 
sang froid of a sportive kitten that carefully keeps a 


MISJUDGED. 


467 


hapless mouse within reach of her velvet paw. The 
pale and saint-like image which he had so long en- 
shrined within his heart, and which had been created 
by her devotion to her mother, also faded utterly 
away in the presence of the reality before him. She 
ivas a veriiable flesh-and-blood woman, with the hue 
of health upon her cheek, and the charm of artistic 
beauty in her rounded form and graceful manner. 
She was a revelation to him, transcending not only 
all that he had seen, but all that he had imagined. 

Thus far he had not attained a moral and intel- 
lectual culture which enabled him even to idealize so 
beautiful and perfect a creature. She was not a saint 
in the mystical or imaginative sense of the word, but, 
as a queen reigning by the divine right of her sur- 
passing loveliness and grace in even Hillaton’s ex- 
clusive society, she was practically as far removed 
from him as if she were an ideal saint existing only 
in a painter's haunted imagination. 

Nature had dowered Laura Romeyn very richly 
in the graces of both person and mind ; but many 
others are equally favored. Her indescribable charm 
arose from the fact that she was very receptive in 
her disposition She had been wax to receive, but 
marble to retain. Therefore, since she had always 
lived and breathed in an atmosphere of culture, re- 
finement, and Christian faith, her character had the 
exquisite beauty and fragrance which belongs to a 
rare flower to which all the conditions of perfect de- 
velopment have been supplied. Although the light 
of her eye was serene, and her laugh as clear and 


468 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

natural as the fall of water, there was a nameless 
something which indicated that her happy, healthful 
nature rested against a dark back-ground of sorrow 
and trial, and was made the richer and more perfect 
thereby. 

Her self-forgetfulness was contagious. The beau 
tiful girl did not look from one to another of the 
admiring circle for the sake of picking up a small 
revenue of flattery. From a native generosity she 
wished to give pleasure to her guests ; from a holy 
principle instilled into her nature so long ago that 
she was no longer conscious of it, she wished to do 
them good by suggesting only such thoughts as men 
associate with pure, good women ; and from an ear- 
nest, yet sprightly mind, she took a genuine interest 
herself in the subjects on which they were conversing. 

By her tact, and with Mrs. Arnot’s efficient aid, 
she drew all into the current of their talk. The three 
other young men who were Mrs. Arnot’s guests that 
evening were manly fellows, and had come to treat 
Haldane with cordial respect. Thus for a time he 
was made to forget all that had occurred to cloud his 
life. He found that the presence of Laura kindled 
his intellect with a fire of which he had never been 
conscious before. His eyes flashed sympathy with 
every word she said, and before he was aware he, 
too, was speaking his mind with freedom, for he saw 
no chilling repugnance toward him in the kindly 
light of her deep blue eyes. She led him to forget 
himself and his past so completely that he, in the ex- 
citement of argument, inadvertently pronounced his 


MISJUDGED. 469 

own doom. In answer to the remark of another, he 
said : — 

“ Society is right in being conserv'ative and exclm 
sive, and its favor should be the highest earthly 
reward of a stainless life. The coarse and the vulgar 
should be taught that they cannot purchase it nor 
elbow their way into it, and those who have it 
should be made to feel that losing it is like losing 
life, for it can never be regained. Thus society not 
only protects itself, but prevents weak souls from 
dallying with temptation.” 

So well-bred was Laura that, while her color 
deepened at his words, she betrayed no other con- 
sciousness that they surprised her. But he suddenly 
remembered all, and the blood rushed tumultuously 
to his face, then left it very pale. 

“What I have said is true, nevertheless,” he add- 
ed quietly and decisively, as if in answer to these 
thoughts ; “ and losing one’s place in society may be 
worse than losing life.” 

He felt that this was true, as he looked at the 
beautiful girl before him, so kind and gentle, and yet 
so unapproachable by him ; and, what is more, he 
saw in her face pitying acquiescence to his words. 
As her aunt’s proUg^, as a young man trying to re- 
form, he felt that he would have her good wishes and 
courteous treatment, but never any thing more. 

“Egbert, I take issue with you,” began Mrs. Arnol 
warmly ; but further remark was interrupted by the 
entrance of a gentleman, who was announced as 

“ Mr. Beaumont.” 


470 knight of the nineteenth centurv. 

There was a nice distinction between the greeting 
given by Mrs. Arnot to this gentleman and that which 
she had bestowed upon Haldane and her other guests. 
His reception was simply the perfection of quiet 
courtesy, and no one could have been suie that the 
lady was glad to see him. She merely welcomed 
him as a social equal to her parlors, and then turned 
again to her friends. 

But Laura had a kindlier greeting for the new- 
comer. While her manner was equally undemon- 
strative, her eyes lighted up with pleasure and the 
color deepened in her cheeks. It was evident that 
they were old acquaintances, and that he had found 
previous occasions for making himself very agreeable. 

Mr. Beaumont did not care to form one of a circle. 
He was in the world’s estimation, possibly in his 
own, a complete circle in himself, rounded out and 
perfect on every side. He was the only son in one 
of the oldest and most aristocratic families in the 
city ; he was the heir of very large wealth ; his care- 
ful education had been supplemented by years of 
foreign travel ; he was acknowledged to be the best 
connoisseur of art in Hillaton ; and to his irreproach- 
able manners was added an irreproachable character. 
“ He is a perfect gentleman,” was the verdict of the 
best society wherever he appeared. 

Something to this effect Haldane learned, from one 
of the young men with whom he had been spending 
the evening, as they bent their steps homeward — 
for soon after Mr. Beaumont’s arrival all took their 
departure. 


MISJUDGED. 


471 


That gentleman seemed to bring in with him a 
different atmosphere from that which had prevailed 
hitherto. Although his bow was distant to Hal- 
dane when introduced, his manner had been tho 
perfection of politeness to the others. For some 
reason, however, there had been a sudden restraint 
and chill. Possibly they had but unconsciously 
obeyed the strong will of Mr. Beaumont, who wished 
their departure. He was almost as resolute in having 
his own way as Mr. Arnot himself. Not that he was 
ever rude to any one in any circumstances, but he 
could politely freeze objectionable persons out of a 
room as effectually as if he took them by the shoul- 
ders and walked them out. There was so much in 
his surroundings and antecedents to sustain his quiet 
assumption, that the world was learning to say, “ By 
your leave,” on all occasions. 

Haldane was not long in reaching a conclusion as 
he sat over a dying fire in his humble quarters at the 
hermitage. If he saw much of Laura Romeyn he 
would love her of necessity by every law of his being. 
Assuring himself of the hopelessness of his affection 
would make no difference to one of his temperament 
He was not one who could coolly say to his ardent 
and impetuous nature, “Thus far, and no farther.” 
There was something in her every tone, word, and 
movement which touched chords within his heart 
that vibrated pleasurably or painfully. 

This power cannot be explained. It was not pas- 
Ejion. Were Laura far more beautiful, something in 
her manner or character might speedily have broken 


472 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

the spell by which she unconsciously held her cap- 
tive. His emotion in no respect resembled the 
strong yet restful affection that he entertained for 
Mrs. Arnot. Was it love ? Why should he love 
one who would not love in return, and who, both in 
the world’s and his own estimation, was infinitely be- 
yond his reach ? However much his reason might 
condemn his feelings, however much he might regret 
the fact, his heart trembled at her presence, and, by 
some instinct of its own, acknowledged its mistress. 
He was compelled to admit to himself that he loved 
her already, and that his boyhood’s passion had only 
changed as he had changed, and had become the 
strong and abiding sentiment of the man. She only 
could have broken the power by becoming common- 
place, by losing the peculiar charm which she had 
for him from the first. But now he could not choose ; 
he had met his fate. 

One thing, however, he could do, and that he re- 
solved upon before he closed his eyes in sleep in the 
faint dawning of the following day. He would not 
flutter as a poor moth where he could not be received 
as an accepted lover. 

This resolution he kept. He did not cease calling 
upon Mrs. Arnot, nor did the quiet warmth of his 
manner toward her change ; but his visits became 
less frequent, he pleading the engrossing character 
of his studies, and the increasing preparation re- 
quired to maintain his hold on his mission-class ; but 
the lady’s delicate intuition was not long in divining 
the true cause. One of his unconscious glances at 


MiSyUDGEi). 


473 


Laura revealed his heart to her woman’s eye as 
plainly as could any spoken words. But by no word 
or hint did Mrs. Arnot reveal to him her knowledge. 
Her tones might have been gentler and her eyes 
kinder ; that was all. In her^ heart, however, she al- 
most revered the man who had the strength and 
patience to take up this heavy and hopeless burden, 
and go on in the path of duty without a word. I low 
different was his present course from his former pas- 
sionate clamor for what was then equally beyond his 
reach ! She was almost provoked at her niece that 
she did not appreciate Haldane more. But would 
she wish her peerless ward to marry this darkly shad- 
owed man, to whom no parlor in Hillaton was open 
save her own ? Even Mrs. Arnot would shrink from 
this question. 

Laura, too, had perceived that which Haldane 
meant to hide from all the world. When has a beau- 
tiful woman failed to recognize her worshipers } But 
there was nothing in Laura’s nature which per- 
mitted her to exult over such a discovery. She could 
not resent as presumption a love that was so un- 
obtrusive, for it became more and more evident as 
time passed that the man who was mastered by it 
would never voluntarily give to her the slightest 
hint of its existence. She was pleased that he was 
30 sensible as to recognize the impassable gulf 
between them, and that he did not go moaning along 
the brink> thus making a spectacle of himself, 
and becoming an annoyance to her. Indeed, she 
sincerely respected him for his reticence and self- 


474 OF THE NUStETEEHTH CENTURV. 

control, but she also misjudged him ; for he was so 
patient and strong, and went forward with his duties 
so quietly and steadily, that she was inclined to be- 
lieve that his feelings toward her were not very deep- 
er else that he was so constituted that affairs of the 
heart diH not give him very much trouble. 


LA UR A CHOUSRS HER KNIGHT. 


475 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

LAURA CHOOSES HER KNIGHT 

Laura, how your cheeks burn I” ex 
^ V claimed Mrs. Arnot as she entered her 
niece’s room one afternoon. 

Now, don’t laugh at me for being so foolish, but 
I have become absurdly excited over this story. 
Scott was well called the ^Wizard of the North.’ 
What a spell he weaves over his pages ! When reading 
some of his descriptions of men and manners in those 
old chivalric times, I feel that I have been born some 
centuries too late — in our time every thing is so 
matter-of-fact, and the men are so prosaic. The 
world moves on with a steady business jog, or, to 
change the figure with the monotonous clank of 
uncle’s machinery. My castle in the air would be 
the counterpart of those which Scott describes.” 

/ “ Romantic as ever,” laughed her aunt ; and that 
reminds me, by the way, of the saying that romantic 
girls always marry matter-of-fact men, which, I sup- 
pose, will be your fate. I confess I much prefer our 
own age. Your stony castles make me shiver with 
a sense ol discomfort ; and as for the men, I imagine 
they are much the same now as then for human 
nat ure does not change much.” 


476 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTUR Y. 

“ O, auntie, what a prosaic speech! Uncle might 
have made it himself. The idea of men being much 
the same now ! Why, in that day there were the 
widest and most picturesque differences between 
men of the same rank. There were horrible villains, 
and then, to vanquish these and undo the mischief 
they were ever causing, there were knights satis 
peur et sans reproche. But now a gentleman is a 
gentleman, and all made up very much in the same 
style, like their dress coats. I would like to have 
seen at least one genuine knight — a man good 
enough and brave enough to do and to dare any 
thing to which he could be impelled by a most chiv- 
alric sense of duty. About the most heroic thing a 
man ever did for me was to pick up my fan." 

Mrs. Arnot thought of one man whose heart was 
almost breaking for her, and yet who maintained 
such a quiet, masterful self-control that the object of 
his passion, which had become like a torturing flame, 
was not subjected to even the slightest annoyance ; 
and she said, “ You are satirical to-day. In my 
opinion there are as true knights now as your favor- 
ite author ever described.” 

"Not in Hillaton,” laughed Laura, "or else their 
disguise is perfect.” 

" Yes, in Hillaton,” replied Mrs. Arnot, with some 
warmth, " and among the visitors at this house. I 
know of one who bids fair to fulfill my highest ideal 
of knighthood, and I think you will do me the just- 
ice to believe that my standard is not a low one.” 

"Auntie, you fairly take away my breath!” said 


LA UR A CHOOSES HER KNIGHT. 


477 


Laura, in the same half-jesting spirit. “ Where have 
my eyes been ? Pray, who is this paragon, who must, 
indeed, be nearly perfect, to satisfy your standard.?” 

You must discover him for yourself ; as you say, 
he appears to be but a gentleman, and would be the 
last one in the world to think of himself as a knight, 
or to fill your ideal of one. You must remember the 
character of our age. If one of your favorite knights 
should step, armed cap-a-pie^ out of Scott’s pages, all 
the dogs in town would be at his heels, and he would 
probably bring up at the station-house. My knight 
promises to become the flower of his own age. Now 
I think of it, I do not like the conventional word 
‘flower,’ as used in this connection, for my knight is 
steadily growing strong like a young oak. I hope 
I may live to see the man he will eventually be- 
come.” 

“ You know well, auntie,” said Laura, “ that I have 
not meant half I have said. The men of our day are 
certainly equal to the women, and I shall not have 
to look far to find my superior in all respects. I 
must admit, however, that your words have piqued 
my curiosity, and I am rather glad you have not 
named this ‘ heart of oak,’ for the effort to discover 
him will form a pleasant little excitement.” 

“Were I that way inclined,” said Mrs. Arnot, 
smiling, “I would be willing to wager a good deal 
that you will hit upon the wrong man.” 

Laura became for a time quite a close student of 
human nature, observing narrowly the physiognomy 
and weighing the words and manner, of her many 


478 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

gentleman acquaintances ; but while she found much 
to respect, and even to admire, in some, she was not 
sure that any one of them answered to her aunt’s 
description. Nor could she obtain any farther light 
by inquiring somewhat into their antecedents. As 
for Mrs. Arnot, she was considerably amused, but 
continued perfectly non-committal. 

After Laura had quite looked through her acquaint- 
ances Haldane made one of his infrequent calls, but 
as Mr. Beaumont was also present she gave to her 
quondam lover scarcely more than a kindly wjord of 
greeting, and then forgot his existence. It did not 
occur to her, any more than it would to Haldane him- 
self, that he was the knight. 

Mr. Arnot, partly out of a grim humor peculiarly 
his own, and partly to extenuate his severity toward 
the youth, had sent to his niece all the city papers 
containing unfavorable references to Haldane, and to 
her mind the associations created by those disgrace- 
ful scenes were still inseparable from him. She hon- 
estly respected him for his resolute effort to reform, 
as she would express it, and as a sincere Christian 
girl she wished him the very best of success, but this 
seemed as far as her regard for him could ever go. 
She treated him kindly where most others in her 
station would not recognize him at all, but such was 
the delicacy and refinement of her nature that she 
shrank from one who had been capable of acts like 
his. The youth who had annoyed her with his pas- 
sion, whom she had seen fall upon the floor in gross 
intoxication, who had been dragged through the 


LA UR A CHOOSES HER KNIGHT, 


179 


streets as a criminal, and who twice had been in jail, 
was still a vivid memory. She knew comparatively 
little about, and did not understand, the man of to- 
day. Beyond the general facts that he was doing 
well and doing good, it was evident that, by reason 
of old and disagreeable associations, she did not wish 
to hear much about him, and Mrs. Arnot had the 
wisdom to see that time and the young man’s i)wii 
actions would do more to remove prejudice from the 
mind of her niece, as well as from the memory ol 
society in general, than could any words of hers. 

Of course, such a girl as Laura had many admirers, 
and among them Mr. Beaumont was evidently win- 
ning the first place in her esteem. Whether he were 
the knight that her aunt had in mind or no, she was 
not sure, but he realized her ideal more completely 
than any man whom she had ever met. He did, in- 
deed, seem the “ perfect flower of his age,” although 
she was not so sure of the oak-like qualities. She 
often asked herself wherein she could find fault with 
him or with all that related to him, and even her deli- 
cate discrimination could scarcely find a vulnerable 
point. He was fine-looking, his heavy side-whiskers 
redeeming his face from effeminacy ; he was tall and 
elegant in his proportions ; his taste in his dress was 
quiet and faultless ; he possessed the most refined 
and highly-cultured mind of any man whom she had 
known ; his family was exceedingly proud and aristo- 
cratic, but as far as there can be reason for these 
characteristics, this old and wealthy family had such 
reason. Laura certainly could not find fault with 


480 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

these traits, for from the first Mr. Beaumont’s par- 
ents had sought to pay her especial attention. It 
was quite evident that they thought that the or 
phaned girl who was so richly dowered with wealth 
and beauty might make as good a wife for theit 
matchless son as could be found, and such an opin- 
ion on their part was, indeed, a high compliment to 
Laura’s birth and breeding. No one else in Hillaton 
would have been thought of with any equanimity. 

The son was inclined to take the same view as 
that entertained by his parents, but, as the party most 
nearly interested, he felt it incumbent upon him to 
scrutinize very closely and deliberately the woman 
who might become his wife, and surely this was a 
sensible thing to do. 

There was nothing mercenary or coarse in his 
delicate analysis and close observation. Far from it. 
Mr. Beaumont was the last man in the world to look 
a lady over as he would a bale of merchandise. More 
than ail things else, Mr. Beaumont was a connoisseur^ 
and he sought Mrs. Arnot’s parlors with increasing 
frequency because he believed that he would there 
find the woman best fitted to become the chief orna- 
ment of the stately family mansion. 

Laura had soon become conscious of this close 
tentative scrutiny, and at first she had been inclined 
to resent its cool deliberateness. But, remembering 
that a man certainly has a right to learn well the 
character of the woman whom he may ask to be his 
wife, she felt that there was nothing in his action o( 
which she could complain ; and it soon became a 
matter .of pride with her, as much as any thing else, to 


LAURA CHOOSES HER KNIGHT. 481 

satisfy -those fastidious eyes that hitherto had critic- 
ally looked the world over, and in -vain, for a pearl 
with a luster sufficiently clear. She began to study 
his taste, to dress for him, to sing for him, to read his 
iavorite authors ; and so perfect was his taste that 
she found herself aided and enriched by it. He was 
her superior, in these matters, for he had made them 
his life-study. The first hour that she spent with 
him in a picture-gallery was long remembered, for 
never before had those fine and artistic marks which 
make a painting great been so clearly pointed out to 
her. She was brought to believe that this man could 
lead her to the highest point of culture to which she 
could attain, and satisfy every refined taste that she 
possessed. It seemed as if he could make life one 
long gallery of beautiful objects, through which she 
might stroll in elegant leisure, ever conscious that he 
who stood by to minister and explain was looking 
away from all things else in admiration of herself. 

The prospect was too alluring. Laura was not an 
advanced female, with a mission ; she was simply a 
young and lovely woman, capable of the noblest ac- 
tion and feeling should the occasion demand them, but 
naturally luxurious and beauty-loving in her tastes, 
and inclined to shun the prosaic side of life. 

She made Beaumont feel that she also was critical 
and exacting. She had lived too long under Mrs. 
Arnot’s influence to be satisfied with a man who 
merely lived for the pleasure he could get out of each 
successive day. He saw that she demanded that he 
should have a purpose and aim in life, and he skillfully 
met this requirement by frequently descanting on aes- 
thetic culture as the great lever which could move the 


482 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. . 

world, and by suggesting that the great question of 
his future was how he could best bring this culture 
to the people. As a Christian, she took issue with 
him as to its being the great lever, but was enthusi- 
astic over it as a most powerful means of elevating 
the masses, and she often found herself dreaming 
over how much a man gifted with Mr. Beaumont’s 
exquisite taste and large wealth could do by placing 
within the reach of the multitude objects of elevating 
art and beauty. 

By a fine instinct she felt, rather than saw, that 
Mrs. Arnot did not specially like the seemingly fault- 
less man, and was led to believe that her aunt’s ideal 
knight was to be found among some of the heartier 
young men who were bent on doing good in the old- 
fashioned ways ; and, with a tendency not unnatural 
in one so young and romantic, she thought of her 
aunt as being a bit old-fashioned and prosaic herself. 
In her youthful and ardent imagination Beaumont 
came to fill more and more definitely her ideal of the 
modern knight — a man who summed up within him- 
self the perfect culture of his age, and who was pro- 
posing to diffuse that culture as widely, as possible. 

“ You do not admire Mr. Beaumont,” said Laura a 
little abruptly to her aunt one day. 

“ You are mistaken, Laura ; I do admire him very 
much.” 

“ Well, you do not like him, then, to speak more 
correctly ; he takes no hold upon your sympathies.” 

“ There is some truth in your last remark, I must 
admit. For some reason he does not. Perhaps it is 


LA UR A CHOOSES HER KNIGHT. 


483 

my fault, and I have sometimes asked myself, Is Mr. 
Beaumont capable of strong affection or self-sacrific- 
ing action ? has he much heart ? ” 

“I think you do him injustice in these respects,” 
said Laura warmly. 

“ Quite probably,” replied Mrs. Arnot, adding with 
1 mischievous smile, which brought the rich color to 
her niece’s cheeks, “ Perhaps you are in a better po- 
sition to judge of his possession of these qualities than 
I am. Thus far he has given me only the opportuni- 
ty of echoing society’s verdict — He is a perfect gen- 
tleman. I wish he were a better Christian,” she con- 
cluded gravely. 

“ I think he is a Christian, auntie.” 

■^‘Yes, dear, in a certain aesthetic sense But far 
be it from me to judge him. Like the rest of the 
world, I respect him as an honorable gentleman.” 

A few days after this conversation Mr. Beaumont 
drove a pair of coal-black horses to Mrs. Arnot’s door, 
and invited Laura to take a drive. When, in the 
twilight, she returned, she went straight to her aunt’s 
private parlor, and, curling down at her knees, as was 
her custom when a child, said, 

“ Give me your blessing, auntie ; your congratula- 
tions, also — I hope, although I am not so sure of these. 
I have found my knight, though probably not yours. 
See ! ” and she held up her finger, with a great flash- 
ing diamond upon it. 

Mrs. Arnot took the girl in her arms and said, I 
do bless you, my child, and I think I can congratulate 
you also. On every principle of worldly prudence 


484 knight of the nine teenth century. 

and worldly foresight I am sure I can. It will be 
very hard ever to give you up to another ; and yet 
I am growing old, and I am glad that you, who are 
such a sacred charge to me, have chosen one who 
stands so high in the estimation of all, and who is so 
abundantly able to gratify your tastes.” 

“Yes, auntie, I think I am fortunate,” said Laura, 
with complacent emphasis. “ I have found a man not 
only able to gratify all my tastes — and you know that 
many of them are rather expensive — but he himself 
satisfies my most critical taste, and even fills out the 
ideal of my fancy.” 

•Mrs. Arnot gave a sudden sigh. 

“ Now, auntie, what, in the name of wonder, can 
that foreboding sigh mean 

“ You have not said that he satisfied your heart” 
“01 think he does fully,” said Laura, hastily, 
though with a faint misgiving. “ These tender feeb 
ings will come in their own good time. We have 
not got far enough along for them yet. Besides, I 
never could have endured a passionate lover. I was 
cured of any such tastes long ago,iyou remember,” 
she added, with a faint laugh. 

“Poor Egbert!” ejaculated Mrs. Arnot, with such 
sad emphasis that Laura looked up into her face in- 
quiringly as she asked, 

“ You don’t think he will care much, do you } ” 

“ Yes, Laura ; you know he will care, perhaps 
more deeply than I do ; but I believe that he will 
wish you happiness as truly and honestly as my 
self.” 


ZA URA CHOOSES HER KNIGHT. 485 

" O, auntie ! how can it be that he will care as 
much as yourself?” 

‘‘ Is it possible, Laura, that you have failed to de- 
tect his regard for you in all these months ? ! de- 

tected it at a glance, and felt sure that you had 
also.” 

“ So I did, auntie, long since, but I supposed it 
was, as you say, a mere regard that did not trouble 
him much. I should be sorry to think that it was 
otherwise.” 

/ “ At all c\^ents, it has not troubled you much, what- 
ever it may have cost him. You hardly do Haldane 
justice. Your allusion to his former passion should 
remind you that he still possesses the same ardent 
and impetuous nature, but it is under control. You 
cannot return his deep, yet unobtrusive, love, and, as 
the world is constituted, it is probably well for you 
that this is true ; but I cannot bear that it should 
have no better reward than your last rather con- 
temptuous allusion.” 

** Forgive me, auntie ; I did not imagine that he 
felt as you seem to think. Indeed, in my happiness 
and preoccupation, I have scarcely thought of him at 
all. His love has, in truth, been unobtrusive. So 
scrupulously has he kept it from my notice that I 
had thought and hoped that it had but little place in 
his mind. But if you are right, I am very very 
sorry. Why is the waste of these precious heart- 
treasures permitted ? ” and gathering tears attested 
her sincerity. 

“ That is an old, old question, which the world has 


486 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENT UR Y. 

never answered. The scientists tell us that by a law 
of nature no force is ever lost. If this be true in the 
physical world, it certainly should be in the spiritual. 
I also believe that an honest, unselfish love can en- 
rich the heart that gives it, even though it receives no 
other reward. But you have no occasion to blame your- 
self, Laura. It is one of those things which never 
could have been helped. Besides, Haldane is serv- 
ing a Master who is pledged to shape seeming evils 
for his good. I had no thought of speaking of him 
at all, only your remark seemed so like injustice that 
I could not be silent. In the future, moreover, you 
may do something for him. Society is too unre- 
lenting, and does not sufficiently recognize the strug- 
gle he has made, and is yet making ; and he is so 
morbidly sensitive that he will not take any thing 
that even looks like social alms. You will be in a 
position to help him toward the recognition which 
he deserves, for I should be sorry to see him become 
a lonely" and isolated man. Of course, you will have 
to do this very carefully, but your own graceful tact 
will best guide you in this matter. I only wish you 
to appreciate the brave fight he is making and the 
character he is forming, and not to think of him 
merely as a commonplace, well-meaning man, who 
is at last trying to do right, and who will be fairly 
content with life if he can secure his bread and 
butter.” 

'' I will remember what you say, and do my very 
best,” said Laura earnestly, “ for I do sincerely re- 
spect Mr. Haldane for his efforts to retrieve the past, 


LAURA CHOOSES HER KNIGHT. 487 

and I should despise myself did I not appreciate the 
delicate consideration he has shown for me if he has 
such feelings as you suppose. Auntie!” she cx- 
elaimed after a moment, a sudden light breaking in 
upon her, “Mr. Haldane is your knight.” 

“And a very plain, prosaic knight, no doubt, ht 
seems to you.” 

“ I confess that he does, and yet when I think of 
it I admit that he has fought his way up against tre- 
mendous odds. Indeed, his present position in con- 
trast with what he was involves so much hard fight- 
ing that I can only think of him as one of those plain, 
rugged men who have risen from the ranks.” 

“ Look for the plain and rugged characteristics 
when he next calls,” said Mrs. Arnot quietly. “ One 
would have supposed that such a rugged nature 
would have interposed some of his angles in your 
way.” 

“ Forgive me, auntie ; I am inclined to think that 
I know very little about your knight ; but it is 
natural that I should much prefer my own. Your 
knight is like one of those remorseful men of the 
olden time who, partly from faith and partly in pen- 
ance for past misdeeds, dons a suit of plain heavy iron 
armor, and goes away to parts unknown to fight the 
infidel. My knight is clad in shining steel ; nor is 
the steel less true because overlaid with a filagree of 
gold ; and he will make the world better not by 
striking rude and ponderous blows, but by teaching 
it something of his own fair courtesy and his own 
rich culture.” 


488 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

“Your description of Haldane is very fanciful and 
a little far-fetched,” said Mrs. Arnot, laughing ; 
“ should I reply in like vein I would only add that I 
believe that he will henceforth keep the ‘ white 
cross ’ on his knightly mantle unstained. Already 
he seems to have won a place in that ancient and 
honorable order established so many centuries ago, 
the members of which were entitled to inscribe upon 
their shields the legend, ‘ He that ruleth his own spirit 
is better than he that taketh a city.’ But we are carry- 
ing this fanciful imagery too far, and had better drop 
it altogether. I know that you will do for Haldane 
all that womanly delicacy permits, and that is all I 
wish. Mr. Beaumont’s course toward you commands 
my entire respect. He long since asked both your 
uncle’s consent and mine to pay you his addresses, 
and while we, of course, gave our approval, we have 
left you wholly free to follow the promptings of your 
own heart. In the world’s estimation, Laura, it will 
be a brilliant alliance for each party ; but my prayer 
shall be that it may be a happy and sympathetic 
union, and that you may find an unfailing and in- 
creasing content in each other’s society. Nothing 
can compensate for the absence of a warm, kind 
heart, and the nature that is without it is like a home 
without a hearth-stone and a fire ; the larger and 
more stately it is, the colder and more cheerless it 
seems.” 

Laura understood her aunt’s allusion to her own 
bitter disappointment, and she almost shivered at the 
possibility of meeting a like experience. 


MRS. AliNOT'S KNIGHT. 


489 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

MRS. ARNOT’S KNIGHT. 

I T will not be supposed that Haldane was either 
blind or indifferent during the long months in 
which -Beaumont, like a skillful engineer, was mak- 
ing his regular approaches to the fair lady whom he 
would win. He early foresaw what appeared to him 
would be the inevitable result, and yet, in spite of all 
his fortitude, and the frequency with which he as- 
sured himself that it was natural, that it was best, 
that it was right, that this peerless woman should 
wed a man of Beaumont’s position and culture, still 
that gentleman’s assured deliberate advance was like 
the slow and torturing contraction of the walls of that 
terrible chamber in the Inquisition which, by an im- 
perceptible movement, closed in upon and crushed 
the prisoner. For a time he felt that he could not 
endure the pain, and he grew haggard under it. 

“What’s the matter, my boy?” said Mr. Grow- 
ther abruptly to him one evening. “You look as 
if something was a-gnawin’ and a-eatin’ your very 
heart out.” 

He satisfied his old friend by saying that he did 
not feel well, and surely one sick at heart as he was 

might justly say this. 

21 * 


490 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

Mr. Growther immediately suggested as remedies 
all the drugs he had ever heard of, and even volun- 
teered to go after them ; but Haldane said with a 
smile, 

“ I would not survive if I took a tenth part of the 
medicines you have named, and not one of them 
would do me any good. I think Fll take a walk in- 
stead.” 

Mr. Growther thought a few moments, and mut- 
tered to himself, “ What a cussed old fool I’ve been 
to think that rhubob and jallup could touch his case ! 
He’s got something on his mind,” and with a com- 
mendable delicacy he forbore to question and pry. 

Gradually, however, Haldane obtained patience 
and then strength to meet what seemed inevitable, 
and to go forward with the strong, measured tread of 
a resolute soldier. 

While passing through his lonely and bitter con- 
flict he learned the value and significance of that an- 
cient prophecy, He is despised and rejected of 
men ; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief ; 
and we hid, as it were, our faces from him.” How 
long, long ago God planned and purposed to win the 
sympathy and confidence of the suffering by coming 
so close to them in like experience that they could 
feel sure — yes, know — that he felt with them and for 
them. 

Never before had the young man so fully realized 
how vital a privilege it was to be a disciple of Christ — 
to be near to him — and enjoy what resembled a com- 
panionship akin to that possessed by those who fol- 


MAS. ARAAOT'S 


491 


lowed him up and down the rugged paths of Judea 
and Galilee. 

When, at last, Laura’s engagement became a recog- 
nized fact, he received the intelligence as quietly as 
the soldier who is ordered to take and hold a posi- 
tion that will long try his fortitude and courage to 
the utmost. 

As for Laura, the weeks that followed her engage- 
ment were like a beautiful dream, but one that was 
created largely by the springing hopes and buoyancy 
of youth, and the witchery of her own vivid imagina- 
tion. The spring-time had come again, and the 
beauty and promise of her own future seemed re- 
flected in nature. Every day she took long drives 
into the country with her lover, or made expeditions 
to picture galleries in New York; again, they would 
visit public parks or beautiful private grounds in 
which the landscape gardener had lavished his art. 
She lived and fairly reveled in a world of beauty, and 
for the time it intoxicated her with delight. 

There was also such a chorus of congratulation 
that she could not help feeling complacent. Society 
indorsed her choice so emphatically and universally 
that she was sure she had made no mistake. She was 
caused to feel that she had carried off the richest 
prize ever known in Hillaton, and she was sufficiently 
human to be elated over the fact. 

Nor was the congratulation all on one side. So- 
ciety was quite as positive that Beaumont had been 
equally fortunate, and there were some that insisted 
that he had gained the richer prize. It was known 


^92 KMlCnr OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

that Laura had considerable property in her own 
name, and it was the general belief that she would 
eventually become heiress of a large part of the colos- 
sal fortune supposed to be in the possession of Mr. 
and Mrs. Arnot. In respect to character, beauty, ac- 
complishments — in brief, the minor considerations 
in the world’s estimation, it was admitted by all that 
Laura had few superiors. Mr. Beaumont’s parents 
were lavish in the manifestations of their pleasure 
and approval. And thus it would seem that these two 
lives were fitly joined by the affinity of kindred tastes 
by the congenial habits of equal rank, and by uni- 
versal Acclamation. 

Gradually, however, the glamour thrown around 
her new relationship by its very novelty, by unnum- 
bered congratulations, and the excitement attendant 
on so momentous a step in a young lady’s life, began 
to pass away. Every fine drive in the country sur- 
rounding the city had been taken again and again ; 
all the fine galleries had been visited, and the finer 
pictures admired and dwelt upon in Mr. Beaumont’s 
refined and quiet tones, until there was little more to 
be said. Laura had come to know exactly why her 
favorite paintings were beautiful, and precisely the 
marks which gave them value. The pictures re- 
mained just as beautiful, but she became rather tired 
of hearing Mr. Beaumont analyze them. Not that 
she could find any fault with what he said, but it 
was the same thing over and over again. She be- 
came, slowly and unpleasantly, impressed with the 
thought that, while Mr. Beaumont would probably 


MA’S. A /KNOT'S KNIGHT, 


493 


take the most correct view of every object that met 
his eye, he would always take the same view, and, 
having once heard him give an opinion, she could an- 
ticipate on all future occasions just what he would 
say. We all know, by disagreeable experience, that 
no man is so wearisome as he who repeats himself 
over and over again without variation, no matter 
how approved his first utterance may have been. 
Beaumont was remarkably gifted with the power of 
forming a correct judgment of the technical work 
of others in all departments of art and literature, and 
to the perfecting of this accurate aesthetic taste he 
had given the energies of his maturer years. He had 
carefully scrutinized in every land all that the best 
judges considered pre-eminently great and beautiful, 
but his critical powers were those of an expert, a 
connoisseur, only. His mind had no freshness or 
originality. He had very little imagination. Laura’s 
spirit would kindle before a beautiful painting until 
her eyes suffused with tears. He would observe 
coolly, with an eye that measured and compared 
every thing with the received canons of art, and if 
the drawing and coloring were correct he was simply 
— satisfied. 

Again, he had a habit of forgetting that he had 
given his artistic views upon a subject but a brief 
time before, and would repeat them almost word for 
word, and often his polished sentences and quiet 
monotone were as wearisome as a thrice-told tale. 

As time wore on the disagreeable thought began 
to suggest itself to Laura that the man himself had 


494 knight of the nineteenth CENTURY- 

culminated ; that he was perfected to the limit of his 
nature, and finished off. She foresaw with dread 
that she might reach a point before very long when 
she would know all that he knew, or, at least, all that 
he kept in his mind, and that thereafter every thing 
would be endless repetition to the end of life. He 
dressed very much the same every day ; his habits 
were very uniform and methodical. In the world’s 
estimation he was, indeed, a bright luminary, and he 
certainly resembled the heavenly bodies in the fol- 
lowing respects. Laura was learning that she could 
calculate his orbit to a nicety, and know beforehand 
what he would do and say in given conditions. 
When she came to know him better she might be 
able to trace the unwelcome resemblance still fur- 
ther, in the fact that he did not seem to be progress- 
ing toward any thing, but was going round and round 
in an habitual circle of thought and action, with him- 
self as the center of his universe. 

Laura resisted the first and infrequent coming of 
these thoughts, as if they were suggestions of the evil 
one ; but, in spite of all effort, all self-reproach, they 
would return. Sometimes as little a thing as an ele- 
gant pose — so perfect, indeed, as to suggest that it 
had been studied and learned by heart years ago — 
would occasion them, and the happy girl began to sigh 
over a faint foreboding of trouble. 

By no word or thought did she ever show him 
what was passing in her mind, and she would have 
to show such thoughts plainly before he would even 
dream of their existence, for no man ever more thor- 


MRS. ARNOT'S KNIGHT. 


495 


oughly believed in himself than did Auguste Beau- 
mont. He was satisfied he had learned the best and 
most approved way of doing every thing, and as his 
action was always the same, it was, therefore, always 
right. Moreover, Laura eventually divined, while 
calhng with him on his parents, that the greatest her- 
esy and most aggravated offense that any one could 
be guilty of in the Beaumont mansion would be to 
find fault with- Auguste. It would be a crime for 
which neither reason nor palliation could be found. 

Thus the prismatic hues which had surrounded 
this man began to fade, and Laura, who had hoped 
to escape the prose of life, was reluctantly compelled 
to admit to herself at times that she found her lover 
tiresomely prosy and “ splendidly null.” 

In the meantime Haldane had finished the studies 
of his second year at the medical college, and had 
won the respect of his instructors by his careful at- 
tention to the lectures, and by a certain conscientious, 
painstaking manner, rather than by the display of 
any striking or brilliant qualities. 

One July evening, before taking his summer vaca- 
tion, he called on Mrs. Arnot. The sky in the west 
was so threatening, and the storm came on so rapid- 
ly, that Mr. Beaumont did not venture down to the 
city and Laura, partly to fill a vacant hour, and part- 
ly to discover wherein the man of to-day, of whom her 
aunt couid speak in such high terms, differed from 
the youth that she, even as an immature girl, despised, 
determined to give Haldane a little close observa- 
tion. When he entered she was at the piano, prac- 


496 KNIGHT OF THE NINE TEENTH CENT JR Y. 

ticing a very difficult and intricate piece of music 
that Beaumont had recently brought to her, and he 
said, 

“ Please do not cease playing. Music, which is a 
part of your daily fare, is to me a rarely tasted lux- 
ury, for you know that in Hillaton there are but few 
public concerts even in winter.” 

She gave him a glance of genuine sympathy, as 
she remembered that only at a public concert where 
he could pay his way to an unobtrusive seat could 
he find opportunity to enjoy that which was a part 
of her daily life. In no parlor save her aunt’s could 
he enjoy such refining pleasures, and for a reason 
that she knew well he had rarely availed himself gf 
the privilege. Then another thought followed swift- 
ly : Surely a man so isolated and cut off from these 
esthetic influences which Mr. Beaumont regards as 
absolutely essential, must have become uncouth and 
angular in his development.” The wish to discover 
how far this was true gave to her observation an in- 
creasing zest. She generously resolved, however, to 
give him as rich a musical banquet as it was in 
her power to furnish, if his eye and manner asked 
for it. 

“Please continue what you were playing,” he 
added, “ it piques my curiosity.” 

As the musical intricacy which gave the rich but 
tangled fancies of a master-mind proceeded, his brow 
knit in perplexity, and at its close he shook his head 
and remarked, 

“That is beyond me. Now and then I seemed 


MRS. ARMOR'S KNIGHT. 


497 

to catch glimpses of meaning, and then all was ob* 
scure again.” 

“ It is beyond me, too,” said Mrs. Arnot with a laugh. 
“Come, Laura, give us something simple. I have 
heard severely classical and intricate music so long 
that I am ready to welcome even “Auld lang syne.” 

“ I also will enjoy a change to something old and 
simple,” said Laura, and her fingers glided into a 
selection which Haldane instantly recognized as 
Steibelt’s Storm Rondo. 

As Laura glanced at him she saw his deepening 
color, and then it suddenly flashed upon her when she 
had first played that music for him, and her own face 
flushed with annoyance at her forgetfulness. After 
playing it partly through she turned to her music- 
stand in search of something else, but Haldane said, 

“ Please finish the rondo. Miss Romeyn addings 
with a frank laugh, “You have, no doubt, forgotten 
it ; but you once, by means of this music, gave me 
one of the most deserved and wholesome lessons I 
ever received.” 

“ Your generous acknowledgment of a fancied 
mistake at that time should have kept me from blun- 
ders this evening,” she replied in a pained tone. 

With a steady glance that held her eyes he said 
very quietly, and almost gently, 

“ You have made no blunder. Miss Romeyn. I do 
not ignore the past, nor do I wish it to be ignored 
with painstaking care. I am simply trying to face it 
and overcome it as I might an enemy. I may be 
wrong, for you know I have had little chance to be- 


^^8 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENT UR Y. 

come versed in the ways of good society ; but it ap- 
pears to me that it would be better even for those 
who are to spend but a social hour together that they 
should be free from the constraint which must exist 
when there is a constant effort to shun delicate or 
dangerous ground. Please finish the rondo ; and 
also please remember that the ice is not thin here 
and there,” he added with a smile. 

Laura caught her aunt’s glance, and the significant 
lighting up of her face, and, with an answering smile, 
she said, 

“ If you will permit me to change the figure, I will 
suggest that you have broken the ice so completely 
that I shall take you at your word, and play and sing 
just what you wish and, bent upon giving the young 
man all the pleasure she could, she exerted her pow- 
ers to the utmost in widely varied selections ; and 
while she saw that his technical knowledge was lim- 
ited, it was clearly evident that he possessed a nature 
singularly responsive to musical thoughts and effects ; 
indeed, she found a peculiar pleasure and incentive 
in glancing at his face from time to time, for she saw 
reflected there the varied characteristics of the melo- 
dy. But once, as she looked up to see how he liked 
an old English ballad, she caught that which instantly 
brought the hot blood into her face. 

Haidane had forgotten himself, forgotten that she 
belonged to another, and, under the spell of the old 
love song, had dropped his mask. She saw his heart 
in his gaze of deep, intense affection more plainly 
than^poken words could have revealed it. 


MRS. ARNOT 'S KNIGHT. 


499 


He started slightly as he saw her conscious blush, 
turned pale instead of becoming red and embar- 
rassed, and, save a slight compression of his lips 
made no other movement. She sang the concluding 
verse of the ballad in a rather unsympathetic man- 
ner, and, after a light instrumental piece devoid of 
sentiment, rose from the piano. 

Haldane thanked her with frank heartiness, and 
then added in a playful manner that, although the 
concert was over, he was weather-bound on account 
of the shower, and would therefore try to compen- 
sate them for giving him shelter by relating a curi- 
ous story which was not only founded on fact, but all 
fact ; and he soon had both of his auditors deeply in- 
terested in one of those strange and varied experi- 
ences which occasionally occur in real life, and which 
he had learned through his mission class. The tale 
was so full of lights and shadows that now it pro- 
voked to laughter, and again almost moved the list- 
eners to tears. While the narrator made as little 
reference to himself as possible, he unconsciously 
and of necessity revealed how practically and vitall)' 
useful he was to the class among whom he was v/ork- 
ing. Partly to draw him out, and partly to learn 
more about certain characters in whom she had be- 
come interested, Mrs. Arnot asked after one and an- 
other of Haldane’s “ difficult cases.” As his replies 
suggested inevitably something of their dark and re- 
volting history, Laura again forget herself so far as 
to exclaim, 

“ How can you work among such people ? ” 


500 knight of the nineteenth century. 

After the words were spoken she was ready to 
wish that she had bitten her tongue out. 

“ Christ worked among them,” replied he gravely, 
and then he added, with a look of grateful affection 
toward Mrs. Arnot, “ Besides, your aunt has taught 
me by a happy experience that there are some possi- 
bilities of a change for the better in ‘such people.’ ” 

“ Mr. Haldane,” said Laura impetuously, and with a 
burning flush, “ I sincerely beg your pardon. As 
you were speaking you seemed so like my aunt in 
refinement and character that you banished every 
other association from my mind.” 

His face lighted up with a strong expression of 
pleasure, and he said, 

“ I am glad that those words are so heartily uttered, 
and that there is no premeditation in them ; for if in 
the faintest and farthest degree I can even resemble 
Mrs. Arnot, I shall feel that I am indeed making 
progress.” 

“ I shall say what is in my mind without any com 
straint whatever,” said Mrs. Arnot. “Years ago, 
Egbert, when once visiting you in prison, to which 
you had been sent very justly, I said in effect, that 
in rising above yourself and your circumstances, you 
would realize my ideal of knighthood. You cannot 
know with what deep pleasure I tell you to-night 
that you are realizing this ideal even beyond my 
hopes.” 

“ Mrs. Arnot,” replied Haldane, in a tone that 
trembled slightly, “ I was justly sent to that prison, 
and to-night, no doubt, I should have been in some 


MRS. ARNOT'S KNIGHT. 


other prison-house of human justice — quite possibly,” 
he added, in a low, shuddering tone, “ in the prison- 
house of God’s justice — if you had not come like an 
angel of mercj^ — if you had not borne with me, 
taught me, restrained me, helped me with a patience 
closely akin to Heaven’s own. It is the hope and 
prayer of my life that I may some day prove how I 
appreciate all that you have done for me. But, see ; 
the storm is over, as all storms will be in time. 
Good night, and good-bye,” and he lifted her hand to 
his lips in a manner that was at once so full of hom- 
age and gratitude, and also the grace of natural and 
unstudied action, that there came a rush of tears into 
the lady's eyes. 

Laura held out her hand and said, “ Mr. Haldane, 
you cannot respect me more than you have taught 
me to respect you.” 

He shook his head at these words, involuntarily 
intimating that she did not know, and never could 
but departed without trusting himself to reply. 

The ladies sat quite a long time in silence. At 
length Laura remarked with a sigh, 

“ Mr. Haldane is mistaken. The ice is thin here 
and there, but I had no idea that there were such 
depths beneath it.” 

Mrs. Arnot did not reply at once, and when she 
did perhaps she had in mind other experiences than 
those of her young friend, for she only said in a low 
musing tone, 

“Yes, he is right. All storms will be over in 

time.” 


503 XmCHT OF THE HINE TEEN Til CENTURY. 


1 CHAPTER XLIX. 

A KNIGHTLY DEED. 

T he year previous Haldane had buried himself 
among the mountains of Maine, but he re- 
solved to spend much of the present summer in the 
city of New York, studying such works of art as 
were within his reach, haunting the cool, quiet libra- 
ries, and visiting the hospitals, giving to the last, as 
a medical student, the most of his time. He found 
himself more lonely and isolated among the number- 
less strange faces than he had been in the northern 
forests. He also went to his native city for the pur- 
pose of visiting Dr. Marks, and as the family man- 
sion was closed, took a room at the hotel. His old 
acquaintances stood far aloof at first, but when Dr. 
Marks carried him off with friendly violence to the 
parsonage, and kept him there as a welcome guest, 
those who had known him or his family concluded 
that they could shake hands with him, and many 
took pains to do so, and to congratulate him on the 
course he was taking. Dr. Marks* parsonage wa'i 
emphatically the Interpreter’s house to him, and 
after a brief visit he returned to New York more en- 
couraged with the hope that he would eventually 
retrieve the past than ever he had been before. 

But events now occurred which promised to speed- 


A KNIGHTLY DEED, 


503 

ily blot out all possibility of an earthly future. In 
answer to his letter describing his visit to Dr. Marks, 
.he received from Mrs. Arnot a brief note, saying 
that the warm weather had affected her very unfa- 
vorably, and that she was quite ill and had bee 
losing strength for some weeks. On this ground h 
must pardon her brief reply. Her closing word 
were, “Persevere, Egbert. In a few years more the 
best homes in the land will be open to you, and 
you can choose your society from those who are 
honorable here and will be honored herafter.” 

There were marks of feebleness in the handwrit- 
ing, and Haldane’s anxiety was so strongly aroused 
in behalf of his friend that he returned to Hillaton 
at once, hoping, however, that since the heats of 
August were nearly over, the bracing breath of au- 
tumn would bring renewed strength. 

After being announced he was shown directly up 
to Mrs. Arnot’s private parlor, and he found himself 
where, years before, he had first met his friend. The 
memory of the bright, vivacious lady who had then 
entertained him with a delicate little lunch, while 
she suggested how he might make his earliest ven- 
ture out into the world successful, flashed into his 
mind, with thronging thoughts of all that had since 
occurred ; but now he was pained to see that his 
friend reclined feebly on her lounge, and held out 
her hand without rising. 

“ I am glad you have come,” she said with quiet 
emphasis, “ for your sympathy will be welcome, al- 
though, like others, you can do nothing for us in 
our trouble.” 


504 knight of the nineteenth century. 

** Mrs. Arndt,” he exclaimed in a tone of deep 
distress, you are not seriously ill ? ” 

** No,” she replied, “ that is not it. I’m better, or* 
will be soon, I think. Laura, dear, light the gas, 
please, and Egbert can read the telegrams for him- 
self. You once met my sister, Mrs. Poland, who 
resides in the South, I think.” 

“Yes, I remember her very well. There was 
something about her face that haunted me for 
months afterward.” 

“ Amy was once very beautiful, but ill-health has 
greatly changed her.” 

In the dusk of the evening Haldane had not seen 
Laura and Mr. Beaumont, as he entered, and he now 
greeted them with a quiet bow; but Laura came and 
gave him her hand, saying, 

“ We did not expect you to return so soon, Mr. 
Haldane.” 

“After hearing that Mrs. Arnot was ill I could 
not rest till I had seen her, and I received her note 
only this morning.” 

He now saw that both Laura’s eyes and Mrs. 
Arnot’s were red with weeping. 

The latter, in answer to his questioning, troubled 
face ; said : “ The yellow fever has broken out in the 
city where my sister resides. Her husband, Mr. 
Poland, has very important business interests there, 
which he could not drop instantly. She would not 
leave him, and Amy, her daughter, would not leave 
her mother. Indeed, before they were aware of 
their danger the disease had become epidemic, and 
Mr. Poland was stricken down. The first telegram is 


A KNIGHTLY DEED, 


5^5 


from my sister, and states this fact ; the second there 
is from my niece, and it breaks my heart to read it,” 
and she handed it to him and he read as follows: 

The worst has happened. Father very low. 
Doctor gives little hope. I almost fear for mother’s 
mind. The city in panic — our help leaving — medical 
attendance uncertain. It looks as if I should be left 
alone, and I helpless. What shall I do ? ” 

“ Was there ever a more pathetic cry of distress?” 
said Mrs. Arnot, with another burst of grief. “ Oh 
that I were strong and well, and I would fly to them 
at once.” 

“ Do you think I could do any good by going?” 
asked Laura, stepping forward eagerly, but very 
pale. 

“ No,” interposed Mr. Beaumont, with sharp em- 
phasis ; “ you would only become an additional 
burden, and add to the horrors of the situation.” 

Mr. Beaumont is right ; but you are a noble 
woman even to think of such a thing,” said Hal- 
dane, and he gave her a look of such strong feeling 
and admiration, that a little color came into her 
white cheeks. 

“ She dees not realize what she is saying,” added 
Mr. Beaumont. ‘‘ It would be certain death for an 
iinacclimated Northener to go down there now.” 

Laura grew very pale again. She had realized 
what she was saying, and was capable of the sacri- 
fice; but the man who had recognized and appre- 
ciated her heroism was not the one who held her 
plighted troth. 

Paying no heed to Beaumont’s last remark, Hal- 
22 


5o6 t : night of the nineteenth century. 

dane siiatched up the daily paper that lay upon 
the table, and turned hastily to a certain place for 
a moment, then, looking at his watch, exclaimed 
eagerly : 

“ I can do it if not a moment is wasted. The 
express train for the South leaves in an hour, and it 
connects with all the through lines. Miss Romeyn, 
please write for me, on your card, an introduction to 
your cousin. Miss Poland, and I will present it, with 
the offer of my assistance, at the earliest possible 
moment.’* 

“ Egbert, no ! ” said Mrs. Arnot, with strong em- 
phasis, and rising from her couch, though so ill and 
feeble. “ I will not permit you to sacrifice your life 
for comparative strangers.” 

He turned and took her hand in both of his, and 
said, 

Mrs. Arnot, there is no time for remonstrance, 
and it is useless I am goings and no one shall pre- 
vent me.” Then he added, in tones and with a look 
of affection which she never forgot, “ Deeply as I 
regret this sad emergency, I would not, for ten times 
the value of my life, lose the opportunity it gives 
me. I can now show you a small part of my grati- 
tude by serving those you love. Besides, as you say, 
that telegram is such a pathetic cry of distress that 
were you all strangers, I would obey its unconscious 
command. But haste, the card !” 

“ Egbert, you are excited ; you do not realize 
what you are saying ! ” cried the agitated lady. 

He looked at her steadily for a moment, and then 
said, in a tone so quiet and firm that it ended all 


A ATAT/GJ/TLy DEED. 


507 


remonstrance, I realize fully what I am doing, and 
it is my right to decide upon my own action. To 
you, at least, I never broke my word, and I assure 
you that I will go. Miss Romeyn, will you oblige 
me by instantly writing that card ? Your aunt is not 
able to write it.*' 

His manner was so authoritative that Laura wrote 
with a trembling hand : 

The bearer is a very dear friend of aunt’s. How brave and noble 
a man he is you can learn from the fact that he comes to your aid 
now. In deepest sympathy and love, 

Laura. 

“Good-by, my dear, kind friend,’* said Haldane 
cheerily to Mrs. Arnot while Laura was writing; 
“ you overrate the danger. I feel that I shall return 
again, and if I do not, there are many worse evils 
than dying.” 

Your mother,” said Mrs. Arnot, with a low sob. 

“ I shall write to her a long letter on the way and 
explain everything.” 

“ She will feel that it never can be explained.” 

“ I cannot help it,” replied the young man reso- 
lutely; “ I know that I am doing right, or my con- 
science is of no use to me whatever.” 

Mrs. Arnot put her arms around his neck as if she 
were his mother, and said in low, broken tones : 

“ God bless you, and go with you, my true knight ; 
nay, let me call you my own dear son this once. I 
will thank you in heaven for all this, if not here,” 
and then she kissed him again and again. 

“ You have now repaid me a thousand-fold,” he 
faltered and then broke away. 


5oS KNIGHT OT THE NINETEENTH CENTURA. 

** Mr. Haldane,” said Laura tearfully, as he turned 
to her, “ Cousin Amy and I have been the closest 
friends from childhood, and I cannot tell you how 
deeply I appreciate your going to her aid. I could 
not expect a brother to take such a risk.” 

Haldane felt that his present chance to look into 
Laura’s face might be his last, and again, before he 
was aware, he let his eyes reveal all his heart. She 
saw as if written in them, ** A brother might not be 
willing to take the risk, but I am.” 

“Do I then render you a special service?” he 
asked, in a low tone. 

“ You could not render me a greater one.” 

“ Why, this is better than I thought,” he said. 
“How fortunate I was in coming this evening! 
There, please do not look so distressed A soldier 
takes such risks as these every day, and never thinks 
of them. You have before you a happy life. Miss 
Laura, and I am very, very glad. Good courage, 
and good-by,” and his manner now was frank, cheer- 
ful, and brotherly. 

She partly obeyed an impulse to speak, but checked 
it, and tremblingly bent her head ; but the pressure 
she gave his hand meant more than he or even she 
herself understood at the time. 

“ Good-by, Mr. Beaumont,” he said, hurriedly. 
“ I need not wish you happiness, since you already 
possess it ; ” and he hastened from the room and the 
house without once looking back. 

A moment later they heard his rapid resolute tread 
echoing from the stony pavement, but it speedily 
died away. 


A KNIGHTLY DEED. 


509 


Laura listened breathlessly at the window until 
the faintest sound ceased. She had had her wish. 
She had seen a man who was good enough and 
brave enough to face any danger to which he felt 
impelled by a chivalric sense of duty. She had seen 
a man depart upon as knightly an expedition as any 
of which she had ever read, but it was not her 
knight. 

“This young Haldane is a brave fellow, and I 
had no idea that there was so much of him,” re- 
marked Mr. Beaumont in his quiet and refined tones 
“ Really, take it all together, this has been a scene 
worthy of the brush of a great painter.” 

“ O Auguste ! ” exclaimed Laura; “how can you 
look only on the aesthetic side of such a scene ? ” 
And she threw herself into a low chair and sobbed 
as if her heart would break. 

Mr. Beaumont was much perplexed, for he found 
that all of his elegant platitudes were powerless 
to either comfort or soothe her. 

“ Leave her with me,” said Mrs. Arnot. “ The 
excitements of the day have been too much for her. 
She w'ill be better to-morrow.” 

Mr. Beaumont was glad to obey. He had be^n 
accustomed from childhood to leave all disagreeable 
duties to others, and he thought that Laura had be- 
come a trifle hysterical. “A little lavender and 
sleep is all that she requires,” he remarked to him- 
self as he walked home in the starlight. “ But, by 
Jove! she is more lovely in tears than in smiles.” 

That he, Auguste Beaumont, should risk the loss 
of her and all his other possessions by exposing his 


510 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

precious person to a loathsome disease did not entei 
his mind. 

‘‘ O auntie, auntie, I would rather have gone my 
self and died, than feel as I do to-night,” sobbed 
Laura. 

' Courage * was Egbert’s last word to you, Laura,” 
said Mrs. Arnot, “ and courage and faith must be 
our watchwords now. We must act, too, and at 
once. Please tell your uncle I wish a draft for five 
hundred dollars immediately, and explain why. 
Then inclose it in a note to Egbert, and see that 
Michael puts it in his hands at the depot. Write to 
Egbert not to spare money where it may be of any 
use, or can secure any comfort. We cannot tell 
how your aunt Amy is situated, and money is 
always useful. We must telegraph to your cousin 
Amy that a friend is coming. Let us realize what 
courage, prayer, and faith can accomplish. Action 
will do you good, Laura.” 

The girl sprang to her feet and carried out her 
aunt’s wishes with precision. That was the kind of 
“ lavender ” which her nature required. 

After writing all that her aunt dictated, she added 
on her own part : 

If the knowledge that I honor you above other men can sustain 
you, rest assured that this is true ; if my sympathy and constant re- 
membrance can lighten your burdens, know that you and those you 
serve will rarely be absent from my thoughts. You make light of 
your heroic act. To me it is a revelation. I did not know that men 
could be so strong and noble in our day. Whether such words are 
right or conventional, I have not even thought. My heart is full and 
I must speak them. That God may bless you, aid you in serving 
those I love so dearly, and return you in safety, will be my constant 
prayer. 


A KNIGHTL Y DEED. 


Sii 

Auntie falters out one more message, “Tell Egbert that sister 
Amy’s household have not our faith ; suggest it, teach it if you can.” 
Farewell, truest of friends. 

Laura Romeyn. 

Mr. Growther was asleep in his chair when Hal- 
dane entered, and he stole by him and made prepa- 
rations for departure with silent celerity. Then, 
valise in hand, he touched his old friend, who started 
up, and exclaimed : 

“Lord a’ massy, where did you come from, and 
where yer goin’ ? You look kinder sperit like. I 
say, am I awake? I was dreamin’ you was stariin’ 
off to kill somebody.” 

“ Dreams go by contraries. It may be a long 
time before we meet again. But we shall have many 
a good talk over old times, if not here, why, in the 
better home, for your ‘ peaked-faced little chap ’ will 
surely lead you there,” and he explained ail in a few 
brief sentences. “ And now, my kind, true friend, 
good-by. I thank you from my heart for the shelter 
you have given me, and for your stanch friendship 
when friends were so few. You have done all that 
you could to make a man of me, and now that you 
won’t have time to quarrel with me about it, I tell 
you to your face that you are not a mean man. 
There are few larger-hearted, larger-souled men in 
this city,” and before the bewildered old gentleman 
could reply, he was gone. 

Lord a’ massy, Lord a’ massy,” groaned Mr. 
Growther, “ the bottom is jest failin’ out o’ every- 
thing. If he dies with the yellow-jack I’ll git to 
cussin’ as bad as ever.” 

Haldane found Mrs Arnot’s coachman at the de- 


512 KNIGHl OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

pot with the letter Laura had written. As he read 
it his face flushed with the deepest pleasure. Hav- 
ing a few moments to spare, he penciled hastily : 

** Miss Romeyn : — I have received from Michael the letter with the 
draft. Say to Mrs. Amot 1 shall obey both the letter and spirit of 
her instructions. Let me add for myself that my best hopes are 
more than fulfilled. That you, who know all my past, could write 
such words seems like a heavenly dream. But I assure you that you 
overestimate both the character of my action and the danger. It i.s 
all plain, simple duty, whicli hundreds of men would perform as a 
matter of course. I ask but one favor, please look after Mr. Grow- 
then He is growing old and feeble ; I owe him so much — Mrs. Ar- 
not will tell you. Yours 

“ He couldn’t write a word more, Miss, the train 
was a movin’ when he jumped on,” said Michael 
when he delivered the note. 

But that final word had for Laura no conventional 
meaning. She had long known that Haldane was, 
in truth, hers, and she had deeply regretted the 
fact, and would at any time have willingly broken 
the chain that bound him, had it been in her power. 
Would she break it to-night? Yes, unhesitatingly; 
but it would now cost her a pain to do so, which, at 
first, she would not understand. On that stormy 
July evening when she gave Haldane a little private 
concert she had obtained a glimpse of a manhood 
unknown to her before, and it was full of pleasing 
suggestion. To-night that same manhood which is 
at once so strong, and yet so unselfish and gentle, 
had stood out before her distinct and luminous in 
the light of a knightly deed, and she saw with the 
absoluteness of irresistible conviction that such a 
manhood was above and beyond all surface polish, 


J KNIGHTLY DEED. 


513 

all mere aesthetic culture, all earthly rank — that it 
was something that belonged to God, and partook 
of the eternity of his greatness and permanence. 

By the kindred and noble possibilities of her own 
womanly nature, she was of necessity deeply inter- 
ested in such a man having once recognized him ; 
and now for weeks she must think of him as con- 
sciously serving her in the most knightly way and 
at the hourly risk of his life, and yet hoping for no 
greater reward than her esteem and respect. While 
she knew that he would have gone eagerly for her 
aunt s sake, and might have gone from a mere sense 
of duty, she had been clearly shown that the thought 
of serving her had turned his dangerous task into a 
privilege and a joy. Could she follow such a man 
daily and hourly with her thoughts, could she in 
vivid imagination watch his self-sacrificing efforts to 
minister to, and save those she loved, with only the 
cool, decoious interest that Mr. Beaumont would 
deem proper in the woman betrothed to himself? 
The future must answer this question. 

When Haldane had asked for a ticket to the 
southern city to which he was destined, the agent 
stared at him a moment and said : 

Don’t you know yellow fever is epidemic there ?” 

“ Yes,” replied Haldane with such cold reserve of 
manner that no further questions were asked ; but 
the fact that he, a medical student, had bought a 
ticket for the plague-stricken city was stated in the 
Courier the following morning. His old friend Mr. 
Ivison soon informed himself of the whole affair, 
and in a glowing letter of eulogy made it impossible 


514 KNIGHT GF THF NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

for any one to charge that Mrs. Arnot had asked the 
young man to go to the aid of her relatives at such 
tremendous personal risk. Indeed it was clearly 
stated, with the unimpeachable Mr. Beaumont as 
authority, that she had entreated him not to go, and 
had not the slightest expectation of his going until 
he surprised her by his unalterable decision. 

After reading and talking over this letter, sus- 
tained as it had been by years of straightforward 
duty, even good society concluded that it could 
socially recognize and receive this man ; and yet, as 
the old lady had remarked, there was still an excel- 
lent prospect that he would enter heaven before he 
found a we^<^ome to the exclusive circles of Hillaton. 


O DREADED DEATH! 


515 


CHAPTER L. 

"O DREADED DEATH!” 

H aldane found time in the enforced pauses 
of his journey to write a long and affectionate 
letter to his mother, explaining all, and asking her 
forgiveness again, as he often had before. He also 
wrote to Mrs. Arnot a cheerful note, in which he 
tried to put his course in the most ordinary and mat- 
ter-of-fact light possible, saying that as a medical 
student it was the most natural thing in the world 
for him to do. 

As he approached the infected city he had the 
train chiefly to himself, arid he saw that the outgo- 
ing trains were full, and when at last he walked its 
streets it reminded him of a household of which 
some member is very ill, or dead, and the few who 
were moving about walked as if under a sad con- 
straint and gloom. On most faces were seen evi- 
dences of anxiety and . trouble, while a few were 
reckless. 

Having obtained a carriage, he was driven to Mr. 
Poland’s residence in a suburb. He dismissed the 
carriage at the gate, preferring to quietly announce 
himself. The sultry day was drawing to a close as 
he walked up the graveled drive that led to the 


5i6 KMIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

house. Not even the faintest zephyr stirred the lux- 
uriant tropical foliage that here and there shadowed 
his path, and yet the stillness and quiet of nature 
did not suggest peace and repose so much as it did 
death. The motionless air, heavily laden with a 
certain dead sweetness of flowers from the neighbor- 
ing garden, might well bring to mind the breathless 
silence and the heavy atmosphere of the chamber in 
which the lifeless form and the fading funeral wreath 
are perishing together. 

So oppressed was Haldane he found himself walk- 
ing softly and mounting the steps of the piazza with 
a silent tread, as if he were in truth approaching the 
majesty of death. Before he could ring the bell 
there came from the parlor a low, sad prelude, played 
on a small reed organ that had been built in the 
room, and then a contralto voice of peculiar sweet- 
ness sang the following words with such depth of 
feeling that one felt that they revealed the innermost 
emotion of the heart : 

O priceless life ! warm, throbbing life, 

With thought and love and passion rife, 

I cling to thee. 

Thou art an isle in the ocean wide ; 

Thou art a barque above the tide ; 

How vague and void is all beside ! 

I cling to thee. • 

O dreaded death ! cold, pallid death, 

Despair is in thy icy breath ; 

I shrink from thee. 

What victims wilt thou next enroll } 

Thou hast a terror for my soul 
Which will nor reason can control ; 

I shrink from thee. 


O DREADED DEATH! 


sn 


Then followed a sound that was like a low sob 
This surely was Amy, Laura’s cousin-friend, and al- 
ready she had won the whole sympathy of his heart. 

After ringing the bell he heard her step, and then 
she paused, as he rightly surmised, to wipe away the 
thickly-falling tears. He was almost startled when 
she appeared before him, for the maiden had inher- 
ited the peculiar and striking beauty of her mother. 
Sorrow and watching had brought unusual pallor to 
her cheeks; but her eyes were so large, so dark and 
intense, that they suggested spirit rather than flesh 
and blood. 

“ I think that this is Miss Poland,” commenced 
Haldane in a manner that was marked by both sym- 
pathy and respect, and he was about to hand her 
his card of introduction, when she stepped eagerly 
forward and took his hand, saying: “You are Mr. 
Haldane. I know it at a glance.” 

“ Yes, and wholly at your service.” 

Still retaining his hand, she looked for a second 
into his face, as if she would read his soul and gauge 
the compass of his nature ; so intent and penetrating 
was her gaze, that Haldane felt that if there had been 
any wavering or weakness on his part she would 
have known it as truly as himself. 

Her face suddenly lighted up with gratitude and 
fnendliness, and she said, earnestly: 

“ I do thank you for coming. I had purposed 
asking you not to take so great a risk for us, but to 
return ; for, to be frank with you, our physician has 
told me that your risk is terribly great; but I see 
that you are one that would not turn back.” 


5 i 8 knight of the NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

“You are right, Miss Poland.’* Then he added, 
with a flank smile, “ There is nothing terrible to me 
in the risk you speak of. I honestly feel it a privi- 
lege to come to your aid, and I have but one re^ 
quest to make : that you will let me serve you in 
any way and every way possible. By any hesitancy 
and undue delicacy in this respect you will greatly 
pain me.” 

“ Oh I ” she exclaimed in a low and almost passion- 
ate tone, “ I am so glad you have come, for I was 
almost desperate.” 

“ Your father ? ” asked Haldane very gravely, 

** He is more quiet, and I try to think he is better, 
but doctor won’t say that he is. Ah, there he is 
coming now.” 

A carnage drove rapidly to the door, and the 
physician sprang up the steps as if the hours were 
short for the increasing pressure of his work. 

“ Miss Amy, why are you here yet ? I hoped that 
you and your little sister were on your way to the 
mountains,” he said, taking her hand. 

“ Please do not speak of it again,” she replied. 
“ I cannot leave father and mother, and Bertha, you 
know, is too young and nervous a child to be forced 
to go away alone. We must all remain together, 
and hope the best from your skill.” 

God knows I’m doing all in my power to save 
my dear old friend Poland,” said the physician 
huskily, and then he shook his head as if he had lit- 
tle hope. “ How is he now ? ” 

Better, I think. Dr. Orton, this is the friend 
of whom I spoke, Mr. Haldane.” 


O DREADED DEATH I 


519 


‘‘You have always lived at the North?” asked 
the physician, looking the young man over with a 
quick glance. 

“ Yes, sir. 

“ Do you realize the probable consequences oi 
this exposure to one not acclimated ? ” 

“ Dr. Orton, I am a medical student, and I have 
come to do my duty, which here will be to carry 
out strictly your directions. I have only one deep 
cause for anxiety, and that is that I may be taken 
with the disease before I can be of much use. So 
please give me work at once.” 

“ Give me your hand, old fellow. You do our pro- 
fession credit, if not fully fledged. You are right, 
we must all do what we can while we can, for the 
Lord only knows how^many hours are left to any of 
us. But Amy, my dear, it makes me feel like pray- 
ing and swearing in the same breath to find you still 
in this infernal city. A friend promised to call this 
morning and take you and your sister away.” 

“ We cannot go.” 

“ Well, well, as long as the old doctor is above 
ground he will try to take care of you ; and this 
young gentleman can be invaluable if he can hold 
on for a while before following too general a fashion. 
Come, sir, I will install you as nurse at once.” 

“ Doctor, Doctor Orton, what have you brought 
for me ? ” cried a childish voice,- and a little girl, 
fair and blue-eyed, came fluttering down the stairs, 
intercepting them on the way to Mr. Poland’s room. 

“ Ah ! there’s my good little fairy,” said the kind- 
hearted man, taking her in his arms and kissing her. 


520 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

** Look in my pockets, little one, and see what you 
can find.” 

With delightful unconsciousness of the shadows 
around her the child fumbled in his pockets and 
soon pulled out a picture-book. 

No candy yet ? ” she exclaimed in disappointment. 

“ No candy at all, Bertha, nothing but good plain 
food till next winter. You make sure of this, I sup- 
pose,” he said significantly to the elder sister. 

“ Yes, as far as possible. I will wait for you here.” 

They ascended to a large airy room on the second 
floor. Even to Haldane, Mr. Poland appeared far 
down in the dark valley; but he was in that quiet 
and conscious state which follows the first stage of 
the fever, which in his case, owing to his vigorous 
frame, had been unusually prolonged. 

Without a word the doctor felt the sick man’s 
pulse, who bent upon him his questioning eyes. • 
From the farther side of the bed, Mrs. Poland, sit- 
ting feebly in her chair, also fixed upon the physician 
the same intense searching gaze that Haldane had 
sustained from the daughter. Dr. Orton looked for 
a moment into her pale, thin face, which might have 
been taken as a model for agonized anxiety, and then 
looked away again, for he could not endure its ex- 
pression. 

Orton, tell me the truth ; no wincing now,” said 
Mr Poland in low, thick utterance. 

“ My dear Oid friend, it cuts me to the heart to 
say it, but if you have anything special that you 
would like to say to your family I think you had 
better say it now.” 


0 DREADED DEATH! 


521 

** Then I am going to die,” said the man and both 
his tone and face were full of awe ; while poor Mrs. 
Poland looked as if in extremis herself. 

“ This return and rapid rise of fever at this late 
day looks very bad,” said the physician, gloomily, 
“ and you insisted on knowing the truth.” 

‘‘You ever were an honest friend, Orton ; I know 
you have done your best for me, and, although 
worked to death, have come to see me often. I 
leave my family in your charge. God grant I may 
be the only one to suffer. May I see the children ? ” 

“Yes, a few moments ; but I do not wish them to 
be in this room long ? ” 

“ Don’t go just yet, Orton. I — to tell you the 
truth, I feel that dying is rather serious business, 
and you and I have always taken life somewhat as 
a good joke. Call the girls.” 

They came and stood by their mother. Amy was 
beyond tears, but little Bertha could not understand 
it, and with difficulty could be kept from clamber- 
ing upon the bed to her father. 

“ Amy’s naughty, she keeps me away from you, 
papa. I’ve been wanting to see you all day, and 
Amy won’t let me.” 

The doctor and Haldane retired to the hallway. 

There was an unutterable look in the dying man’s 
eyes as he fixed them on the little group. 

“ How can I leave you ? how can I leave you ? ” 
he groaned. 

At this the child began to cry, and again strug- 
gled to reach her father. She was evidently his 
idol, and he prayed, “ Wherever I go —whatever 


52 2 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

becomes of me, God grant I may see that child 
again.” 

“ Mother,” he said (he always called his wife by 
that endearing name), “ I’m sure you are mistaken. 
I want to see you all again with such intense long- 
ing that I feel I shall. This life can’t be all. My 
heart revolts at it. It’s fiendish cruelty to tear 
asunder forever those who love as we do. As I told 
you before, I’m going to take my chances with the 
publican. Oh! that some one could make a prayer I 
Orton!” he called feebly. 

The doctor entered, leaving the door open. 

‘‘Couldn’t you offer a short prayer? You may 
think it unmanly in me, but I am in sore straits, and 
I want to see these loved ones again.” 

“ Haldane,” cried Dr. Orton, “ here, offer a prayer, 
for God’s sake, if you can. I feel as if I were chok- 
ing.” 

Without any hesitancy or mannerism the Christian 
man knelt at Mr. Poland’s bedside and offered as 
simple and natural a prayer as he would have spoken 
to the Divine Man in person had he gone to him in 
Judea, centuries ago, in behalf of a friend. His 
faith was so absolute that he that was petitioned 
became a living presence to those who listened. 

“ God bless you, whoever you are,” said the sick 
man. “ Oh, that does me good ! It’s less dark. It 
seems to me that I’ve got hold of i hand that can 
sustain me.” 

“ Bress de Lord ! ” ejaculated an old negress who 
sat in a distant corner. 

“ I install this young man as your nurse to-night.” 


0 DREADED DKATH ! 


523 


said Dr Orton, huskily; “ I’ll be here in the morning. 
Come, little girls, go now.” 

“ We shall meet again, Amy; we shall meet again, 
Bertie, darling; remember papa said it and believed 

it.” 

Haldane saw a strange blending of love and terror 
in Amy’s eyes as she led her little and bewildered 
sister from the room. 

Dr. Orton took him one side and rapidly gave his 
directions. “ His pulse,” he said, “ indicates that he 
may be violent during the night ; if so, induce Mrs. 
Poland to retire, if possible. I doubt if he lives till 
morning.” He then told Haldane of such piecau- 
tions as he should take for his own safety, and de- 
parted. 

The horrors of that night cannot be portrayed. 
As the fever rose higher and higher, all evidence of 
the kind, loving husband and father perished, and 
there remained only a disease-tortured body. The 
awful black vomit soon set in. The strong physical 
nature in its dying throes taxed Haldane’s powerful 
strength to the utmost, and only by constant effort 
and main force could he keep the sufferer in his bed. 
Mrs. Poland and the old colored woman who assisted 
her would have been totally unequal to the occasion 
Indeed, the wife was simply appalled and over- 
whelmed with grief and horror, for the poor man, 
unconscious of all save pain, and in accordance with 
a common phase of the disease, filled the night with 
unearthly cries and shrieks. But before the morning 
dawned, instead of tossing and delirium there was 
the calm serenity of death. 


524 knight of the NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

As Haldane composed the form for its last sleep 
he said : 

** My dear Mrs. Poland, your faithful watch is 
ended, your husband suffers no more ; now, surely 
you will yield to my entreaty and go to your room. 
I will see that everything is properly attended to.” 

The poor woman was bending over her husband’s 
ashes, almost as motionless as they, and her answer 
was a low cry as she fell across his body in a swoon. 

Haldane lifted her gently up, and carried her from 
the room. 

Crouching at the door of the death-chamber, her 
eyes dilated with horror, he found poor Amy. 

Is mother dead also ? ” she gasped. 

** No, Miss Amy. She only needs your care to 
revive speedily. Please lead the way to your mo- 
ther’s apartment.” 

“ I think there is a God, and that he sent you,” 
she whispered. 

“You are right,” he replied, in the natural hearty 
tone which is so potent in reassuring the terror- 
stricken. “Courage, Miss Amy; all will be well at 
last. Now let me help you like a brother, and when 
your mother revives, I will give her something to 
make her sleep ; I then wish you to sleep also.” 

The poor lady revived after a time, and tried to 
rise that she might return to her husband’s room, 
but fell back in utter weakness. 

“ Mrs. Poland,” said Haldane gently, “ you can do 
no good there. You must live for your children now.’ 

She soon was sleeping under the influence of an 
opiate. 


0 DREADED DEATH! 


525 


“ Will you rest, too, Miss Amy?” asked Haldane. 

“ I will try,” she faltered ; but her large, dark eyes 
looked as if they never would close again. 

Returning to the room over which so deep a hush 
had fallen, Haldane gave a few directions to the old 
negress whom he left in charge, and then sought the 
rest he so greatly needed himself. 


526 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


CHAPTER LI. 

“ O PRICELESS I.IFE ! ” 

HEN Haldane came down the following 



V V morning he found Bertha playing on the 
piazza as unconscious of the loss of her father as 
the birds singing among the trees of their master. 
Amy soon joined them, and Haldane saw that her 
eyes had the same appealing and indescribable ex- 
pression, both of sadness and terror, reminding one 
of some timid and beautiful animal that had been 
brought to bay by an enemy that was feared inex- 
pressibly, but from which there seemed no e^' 


cape, 


He took her hand with a strong and reassuring 
pressure. 

‘‘ Oh,” she exclaimed with a slight shudder, “ how 
can the sun shine? The birds, too, are singing as if 
there were no death and sorrow in the world.” 

“ Only a perfect faith. Miss Amy, can enable us, 
who do know there is death and sorrow, to follow 
their example.” 

“ It’s all a black mystery to me,” she replied, turn- 
ing away. 

“ So it was to me once.” 

An old colored man, the husband of the negress 


0 PRICELESS LIFEt 


527 

who had assisted Haldane in his watch, now ap- 
peared and announced breakfast. 

It was a comparatively silent meal, little Bertha 
doing most of the talking. Amy would not have 
touched a mouthful had it not been for Haldane’s 
persuasion. 

As soon as Bertha had finished, she said to Hal- 
dane : 

** Amy told me that you did papa ever so much 
good last evening : now I want to see him right away.” 

“Does she not know? ’’asked Haldane in a low 
tone. 

Amy shook her head. “ It’s too awful. What can 
I tell her ? ” she faltered. 

“ It is indeed inexpressibly sad, but I think I can 
tell the child without its seeming awful to her, and 
yet tell her the truth,” he replied. “ Shall I try to 
explain?” 

“ Yes, and let me listen, too, if you can rob the 
event of any of its unutterable horror.” 

“ Will Bertie come and listen to me if I will tell 
her about papa? ” 

The child climbed into his lap at once, and turned 
her large blue eyes up to his in perfect faith. 

“ Don’t you remember that papa spoke last night 
of leaving you ; but said you would surely meet 
again ? ” 

At this the child’s lip began to quiver, and she 
said ; “ But papa always comes and kisses me good- 
by before he goes away.” 

“ Perhaps he did, Bertie, when you were asleep in 
your crib last night.” 


528 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

** Oh yes, now I’m sure he did if he’s gone away, 
’cause I ’member he once woke me up kissing me 
good-by.” 

“ I think he kissed you very softly, and so you 
didn’t wake. Our dear Saviour, Jesus, came last 
night, and papa went away with him. But he loves 
you just as much as ever, and he isn’t sick any more, 
and you will surely see him again.” 

** Do you think he will bring me something nice 
when he comes ? ” 

** When you see him again he will have for you, 
Bertie, more beautiful things than you ever saw be- 
fore in all your life, but it may be a long time before 
you see him.” 

The child slipped down from his knee quite satis- 
fied and full of pleasant anticipation, and went back 
to her play on the piazza. 

“ Do you believe all that ? ” asked Amy, looking 
as if Bertha had been told a fairy tale. 

I do, indeed. I have told the child what I re- 
gard as the highest form of the truth, though ex- 
pressed in simple language. Miss Amy, I know that 
your father was ever kind to you. Did he ever turn 
coldly away from any earnest appeal of yours? ” 

“ Never, never,” cried the girl, with a rush of 
tears. 

“ And can you believe that his Heavenly Father 
turned from his touching appeal last night ? Christ 
said to those who were trusting in him, ‘ I will come 
again and receive you unto myself; that where I 
am there ye may be also.’ As long as your father 
was conscious, he was clinging to that diyine hand 


0 PRICELESS LIFE / 


529 

that has never failed one true believer in all these 
centuries. Surely, Miss Amy, your own reason tells 
you that the poor helpless form that we must bury 
to-day is not your father. The genial spirit, the 
mind that was a power out in the world, the soul 
with its noble and intense affections and aspirations 
- these made the man that was your father. There- 
fore I say with truth that the man, the imperishable 
part, has gone away with him who loved humanity, 
and who has prepared a better place for us than this 
earth can ever be under the most favoring circum- 
stances. You can understand that the body is but 
the changing, perishing shadow. 

“ When you compare the poor, disease-shattered 
house in yonder room, with the regal spirit that 
dwelt within it, when you compare that prostrate 
form — which, like^'a fallen tree in the forest, is yield- 
ing to the universal law of change — with the strong, 
active, intelligent man that was your father, do not 
your very senses assure you that your father has 
gone away, and, as I told Bertha, you will surely see 
him again ? It may seem to you that what I said 
about the good-by kiss was but a fiction to soothe 
the child, but in my belief it was not. Though 
we know with certainty so little of the detail of the 
life beyond, we have two good grounds on which 
to base reasonable conjecture. We know of God’s 
love ; we know your father’s love ; now what would 
be natural in view of these two facts ? I think we can 
manage to keep Bertha from seeing that which is 
no longer her father, and thus every memory of him 
will be pleasant. We will leave intact the impres- 

n 


530 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

sion which he himself made when he acted con- 
sciously, for this which now remains is not himself at 
all.” 

Further conversation was interrupted by the 
arrival of Dr. Orton ; but Haldane saw that Amy had 
grasped at his words as one might try to catch a 
rope that was being lowered to him in some other- 
wise hopeless abyss. 

“ I feared that such might be the end,” said the 
doctor, gloomily, on learning from Haldane the 
events of the night ; “ it frequently is in constitutions 
like his.” Then he went up and saw Mrs. Poland. 

The lady’s condition gave him much anxiety, but 
he kept it to himself until they were alone. After 
leaving quieting medicines for her with Amy, and 
breaking utterly down in trying to say a few words 
of comfort to the fatherless girl, he motioned to 
Haldane to follow him. 

“ Come with me to the city,” he said, “ and we 
will arrange for such disposal of the remains as is 
best.” 

Having informed Amy of the nature of his errand, 
and promising to telegraph Mrs. Arnot, Haldane 
accompanied the physician to the business part of 
town. 

You have been a godsend to them,” said the 
kind-hearted old doctor, blowing his nose furiously. 

This case comes a little nearer home than any that 
has yet occurred ; but then the bottom is just falling 
out of everything, and it looks as if we w'ould all go 
before we have a frost. It seems to me, though, 
that I can stand anything rather than see Amy go 


O PRICELESS LIFE I 


53 ^ 


She is engaged to a nephew of mine — as fine a fel- 
low as there is in town, if I do say it, and I love the 
girl as if she were my own . child. My nephew is 
traveling in Europe now, and I doubt if he knows 
the danger hanging over the girl. If anything hap 
pens to her it will about kill him, for he idolizes 
her, and well he may. I’m dreadfully anxious about 
them all. I fear most for Mrs. Poland’s mind. She’s 
a New-England lady, as I suppose you know — 
wonderfully gifted woman, too much brain power 
for that fragile body of hers. Well, perhaps you 
did not understand all that was said last night ; but 
Mrs. Poland has always been a great reader, and she 
has been carried away by the materialistic philoso- 
phy that’s in fashion now-a-days. Queer, isn’t it? 
and she two-thirds spirit herself. Her husband and 
my best friend was as genial and whole-souled a 
man as ever lived, fond of a good dinner, fond of a 
joke, and fond of his family to idolatry. His wife 
had unbounded influence over him, or otherwise he 
might have been a little fast ; but he always laughed 
at what he called her ‘Yankee notions,’ and said 
he would not accept her philosophy until she be* 
came a little more material herself. Poland was a 
square, successful business-man, but I fear he did 
not lay up much. He was too open-hearted and 
free-handed — a typical Southerner I suppose you 
would say at the North, that is, those of you who 
don’t think of us as all slave-drivers and slave- 
traders. I expect the North and South will have 
to have a good, square, stand-up fight before they 
understand each other.” 


532 KNIGHT 01 7HE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

** God forbid ! ” ejaculated Haldane. 

‘‘ Well, I don’t think you and I will ever quarrel. 
You may call us what you please if you will take 
care of Poland’s family.” 

** I have already learned to have a very thorough 
respect both for your head and heart, Doctor Or- 
ton.” 

“ I’m considerably worse than they average down 
here. But as I was telling you, Mrs. Poland was a 
New-England woman, and to humor her her hus- 
band employed such white servants as could be got 
in the city, and poor trash they were most of the 
time. When the fever appeared they left instantly. 
Poland bought the old colored people who are there 
with the place, and gave them their freedom, and 
only they have stood by them. What they would 
have done .last night if you had not come, God 
only knows. Poor Amy, poor Amy!” sighed the 
old doctor tempestuously ; “she’s the prettiest and 
pluckiest little girl in the city. She’s half frightened 
out of her wits, I can see that, and yet nothing but 
force could get her away. For my nephew’s sake 
and her own I tried hard to induce her to go, but 
she stands her ground like a soldier. What is best 
now I hardly know. Mrs. Poland is so utterly pros- 
trated that it might cost her life to move her. Be- 
sides, they have all been so terribly exposed to the 
disease that they might be taken with it on the jour- 
ney, and to have them go wandering off the Lord 
knows where at this chaotic time looks to me about 
as bad as staying where they are and I can look 
after them. But we’ll see, we’ll see.” And in like 


O PRICELESS LIRE! 


533 


manner the sorely-troubled old gentleman talked 
rapidly on, till they reached the undertaker’s, seem- 
ingly finding a relief in thus unburdening his heart 
to one of whose sympathy he felt sure, and who 
might thus be led to feel a deeper interest in the 
objects of his charge. 

Even at that time of general disaster Haldane's 
abundant funds enabled him to secure prompt at- 
tention. It was decided that Mr. Poland’s remains 
should be placed in a receiving vault until such time 
as they could be removed to the family burying- 
ground in another city, and before the day closed 
everything had been attended to in the manner which 
refined Christian feeling would dictate. 

Before parting with Haldane, Doctor Orton had 
given him careful directions what to do in case he 
recognized symptoms of the fever in any of the 
family or himself. “ Keep Amy and Bertha with 
their mother all you can,” he said ; ‘‘ anything to 
rouse the poor woman from that stony despair into 
which she seems to have fallen.” 

The long day at length came to an end. Haldane 
of necessity had been much away, and he welcomed 
the cool and quiet evening; and yet he knew that 
with the shadow of night, though so grateful after 
the glare and heat to which he had been subjected, 
the fatal pestilence approached the nearer, as if to 
strike a deadlier blow. As the pioneer forefathers 
of the city had shut their doors and windows at 
night-fall lest their savage and lurking foes should 
send a fatal arrow from some dusky covert, so now 
again, with the close of the day, all doors and win* 


534 OF THE NtNETEENTH CENTURW 

dows must be shut against a more subtle and remorse- 
less enemy, whose viewless shafts sped with a surer 
aim in darkness. 

Amy had spent much of the day in unburdening 
her heart in a long letter to her cousin Laura, in 
which in her own vivid way she portrayed the part 
Haldane had acted toward them. She had also 
written to her distant and unconscious lover, and 
feeling that it might be the last time, she had pour- 
ed out to him a passion that was as intense and 
yet as pure as the transparent flame that we 
sometimes see issuing from the heart of the hard- 
wood maple, as we sit brooding over our winter 
fire. 

Come and sit with us, and as one of us.” she 
had said to Haldane, and so they had all gathered at 
the bedside of the widow, who had scarcely strength 
to do more than fix her dark, wistful eyes on one and 
another of the group. She was so bewildered and 
overwhelmed with her loss that her mind had partial- 
ly suspended its action. She saw and heard every- 
thing ; she remembered it all afterwards ; but now 
the very weight of the blow had so stunned her 
that she was mercifully saved from the agony of full 
consciousness. 

Little Bertha climbed upon Haldane’s lap and 
pleaded for a story. 

“Yes, Bertie,” he said, “and I think I know a 
story that you would like. You remember I told 
you that your papa had gone away with Jesus ; 
would you not like to hear a story about this good 
fi'iend of your papa’s ? 


0 PRICELESS LIFEr 


535 

“Yes, yes, I would. Do you know much about 
him ? ” 

“ Quite a good deal, for he’s my friend too. I 
know one true story about him that I often like to 
think of. Listen, and I will tell it to you. Jesus is 
the God who made us, and he lives ’way up above 
the sky. But he not only made us, Bertie, but he 
also loves us, and in order to show us how he loves 
us he is always coming to this world to do us good ; 
and once he came and lived here just like a man, so 
that we might all be sure that he cared for us and 
wanted to make us good and happy. Well, at that 
time when he lived here in this world as a man he 
had some true friends who loved him and believed 
in him. At a certain time they were all staying on 
the shore of a sea, and one evening Jesus told his 
friends to take a little boat and go over to the other 
side of the sea, and he would meet them there. 
Then Jesus, who wanted to be alone, went up the 
side of the mountain that rose from the water’s 
edge. Then night came and it began to grow darker 
and darker, and at last it was so dark that the friends 
of Jesus that were in the boat could only see a very 
little ways. Then a moaning, sighing wind began 
to rise, and the poor men in the boat saw that a 
storm was coming, and they pulled hard with their 
oars in hopes of getting over on the other side before 
the storm became very bad ; but by the time they 
reached the very middle of the sea, the wind began 
to blow furiously, just as you have seen it blow when 
the trees bent ’way over toward the ground, and 
some perhaps were broken down. A strong wind 


536 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

at sea makes the water rise up in waves, and these 
waves began to beat against the boat, and before 
very long some of the highest ones would dash into it. 
The men pulled with their oars with all their might, 
but it was of no use ; the wind was right against 
them, and though they did their best hour after hour, 
they still could get no nearer the shore. How sad 
and full of danger was their condition ! the dark, 
dark night was above and around them, the dark, 
angry waves dashing by and over them, the cold, 
black depths of water beneath them, and no sound 
in their ears but the wild, rushing storm. What do 
you think became of them ? 

‘‘ Fm afraid they were drowned,'’ said Bertha, look^ 
ing up with eyes that were full of fear and trouble. 

“ Have you forgotten Jesus? ” 

But he’s ’way off on the side of the mountain.” 

“He is never so far from his friends but that he 
can see them and know all about them. He saw these 
friends in the boat, for Jesus can see in the dark- 
ness as well as in the light ; and when the night grew 
darkest, and the waves were highest, and his friends 
most weary and discouraged, he came to them so 
that they might know that he could save them, when 
they felt they could not save themselves. And he 
came as no other help could have come — walking 
over the very waves that threatened to swallow up 
his friends ; and when he was near to them he called 
out, ‘ Be of good cheer, it is I ; be not afraid.* 
Then he went right up to the boat and stepped into 
it among his friends. Oh ! what a happy change his 
coming made, for the winds ceased, the waves went 


0 PRICELESS LIFE! 


537 


down, and in a very little while the boat reached 
the seashore. The bright sun rose up, the dark- 
ness fled away, and the friends of Jesus were safe. 
They have been safe ever since. Nothing can harra 
Jesus’ friends. He takes care of them from day to 
day, from year to year, and from age to age. When- 
ever they are in trouble or pain or danger he comes 
to them as he did to his friends in the boat, and he 
brings them safely through it all. Don’t you think 
he is a good friend to have ? ” 

“ Isn’t I too little to be his friend ?” 

No, fndeed ; no one ever loved little children as 
he does. He used to take them in his arms and 
bless them, and he said, ‘ Suffer them to come to 
me ; ’ and where he lives he has everything beauti- 
ful to make little children happy.*’ ^ 

And you say papa is with him ? ” 

Yes, papa is with him.” 

“ Why can’t we all go to him now ? ” 

“ As soon as he is ready for us he will come for us.” 
‘‘ I wish he was ready for mamma, Amy, and me 
now, and then we could all be together. It’s so 
lonely without papa. Oh ! I’m so tired,” she added 
alter a few moments, and a little later her head drop- 
ped against Haldane’s breast, and she was asleep. 

“ Mr. Haldane,” said Amy in a low, agitated voice, 
have you embodied your faith in that story to 
Bertha ?” 

Yes, Miss Amy.” 

“ Why do you think ’’—and she hesitated. ** How 
do you know,” she began again, “ that any such Be- 
ing as Jesus exists and comes to any one’s help?” 

23’“ 


538 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

“ Granting that the story I have told you is true, 
how did his disciples know that he came to their 
help? Did not the hushed winds prove it? Did 
not the quieted waters prove it ? Did not his pres- 
ence with them assure them of it ? By equal proof 
I know that he can and will come to the aid of those 
who look to him for aid. I have passed through 
tiarker nights and wilder storms than ever lowered 
over the Sea of Galilee, and I know by simple, prac- 
tical, happy experience that Jesus Christ, through 
his all-pervading Spirit, has come to me in my utter 
extremity again and again, and that I have the same 
as felt his rescuing hand. Not that my trials and 
temptations have been greater than those of many 
others, but I have been weaker than others, and I 
have often been conscious of his sustaining power 
when* otherwise I would have sunk beneath my bur- 
den. This is not a theory. Miss Amy, nor the infatu- 
ation of a few ignorant people. It is the downright 
experience of multitudes in every walk of life, and, 
on merely scientific grounds, is worth as much as 
any other experience. This story of Jesus gains the 
sympathy of little Bertha ; it also commands the 
reverent belief of the most gifted and cultivated 
minds in the world.” 

Oh, that I could believe all this ; but there is so 
much mystery, so much that is dark.” Then she 
glanced at her mother, who had turned away her 
face and seemed to be sleeping, and she asked : ‘‘ If 
Christ is so strong to help and save, why is he not 
strong to prevent evil ? Why is there a cry of ag- 
ony going up from this stricken city ? Why must 


O PRICELESS LIFE I 


S39 

father die, who was everything to us ? Why must 
mother suffer so ? Why am I so shadowed by an 
awful fear? Life means so much to me. I love it/* 
she continued in low yet passionate tones. “ I love 
the song of birds, the breath of flowers, the sunlight, 
and every beautiful thing. I love sensation. I am 
not one who finds a tame and tranquil pleasure in 
the things I like or in the friends I love. My joys’ 
thrill every nerve and fiber of my being. I cling 
to them, I cannot give them up. A few days ago 
life was as full of rich promise to me as our tropical 
spring. It is still, though I will never cease to feel 
the pain of this great sorrow, and yet this horrible 
pit of death, corruption, and nothingness yawns at 
my very feet. Mr. Haldane,” she said in a still 
lower and more shuddering tone, “ I have a terrible 
presentiment that I shall perish with this loathsome 
disease. I may seem to you, who are so quiet and 
brave, very weak and cowardly ; but I shrink from 
death with a dread which you cannot understand 
and which no language can express. It is repugnant 
to every instinct of my being, and I can think of it 
only with unutterable loathing. If I were old and 
feeble, if I had tasted all the joys of life I might 
submit, but not now, not now. I feel with father that 
it is fiendish cruelty to give one such an intense love 
of life and then wrench it away ; and, passionately 
as I love life, there is one far more dear. There is 
that in your nature which has so won my confidence 
that I can reveal to you my whole heart. Mr. Hal- 
dane, I love one who is like you, manly and noble, 
and dearly as I prize life, I think I could give it 


540 KMrcirT of tiff NiFFi^rFEiFTir 

away in slow torture for his sake, if required. How 
often my heart has thrilled to see his eyes kindle 
with his foolish admiration, the infatuation of love 
which makes its object beautiful at least to the 
lover. And now to think that he does not know 
what I suffer and fear, to think that I may never sec 
him again, to think that when he returns I may be a 
hideous mass of corruption that he cannot even ap- 
proach. Out upon the phrases * beneficent nature, 
and ‘ natural law.’ Laws which permit such things 
are most unnatural, and to endow one with such a 
love of life, such boundless capabilities of enjoying 
life, and then at the supreme moment when the 
loss will be most bitterly felt to snatch it away, looks 
to me more like the work of devilish ingenuity than 
of a ‘beneficent nature.’ I feel with father, it is 
fiendish cruelty.” 

Haladne bowed his head among Bertha’s curls to 
hide the tears that would come at this desperate 
cry of distress ; but Amy’s eyes were hard and dry, 
and had the agonized look which might have been 
their expression had she been enduring physical tor 
ture. 

‘■‘Miss Amy,” he said brokenly after a moment, 
“ you forget that your father said, ‘ If this life is all, it 
is fiendishly cruel to tear us from that which we 
have learned to love so dearly,’ and I agree with 
him. But this life is not all ; the belief that human 
life ends at death is revolting to reason, conscience, 
and every sense of justice. If this were true the 
basest villain could escape all the consequences of his 
evil in a moment, and you who are so innocent, so 


O PRICELESS LIFE! 


541 


exquisite in your spiritual organization, so brave and 
noble that you can face this awful fear in your devo- 
tion to those you love — you by ceasing to breathe 
merely would sink to precisely the same level and be 
no different from the lifeless clay of the villain. Such 
monstrous injustice is impossible ; it outrages every 
instinct of justice, every particle of reason that I have, 
“ Miss Amy, don’t you see that you are like the 
disciples in the boat out in the midst of the sea? 
The night is dark above you, the storm is wild 
around you, the waves are dashing over you, the 
little boat is frail, and there are such cold, dark 
depths beneath it. But we can’t help these things. 
We can’t explain the awful mystery of evil and suf- 
fering; sooner or later every human life becomes 
enveloped in darkness, storm, and danger That 
wave-tossed boat in the midst of the sea is an em- 
blem of the commonest human experience. On the 
wide sea of life, numberless little barks are at this 
moment at the point of foundering. Few are so 
richly freighted as yours, but the same unknown 
depths are beneath each. But, Miss Amy, I pray 
you remember the whole of this suggestive Bible 
story. Those imperiled disciples were watched by 
a loving, powerful friend. He came to their aid, 
making the very waves that threatened to engulf the 
pathway of his rescuing love. He saved those old- 
time friends. They are living to-day, they will live 
forever. I can’t explain the dark and terrible things 
of which this world is full, I cannot explain the awful 
mystery of evil in any of its forms. I know the 
pestilence is all around us; I know it seems to 


542 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

threaten your precious, beautiful life. I recognize 
the fact, as I also remember the fact of the dark- 
ness and storm around the little boat. But I also 
know with absolute certainty that there is one who 
can come to your rescue, whose province it is to 
give life, deathless life, life more rich and full of 
thrilling happiness than you have ever dreamed of, 
even with your vivid imagination.’* 

How, how can you know this? What proof CBXi 
you give me?” she asked; and no poor creature, 
whose life was indeed at stake, ever bent forward 
more eagerly to catch the sentence of life or death, 
than did Amy Poland the coming answer. 

I know it,” he replied more calmly, “ on the 
strongest possible grounds of evidence — my own ex- 
perience, the experience of Mrs. Arnot, who is sin- 
cerity itself, and the experience of multitudes of 
others. Believers in Jesus Christ have been verify- 
ing his promises in every age, and in every possible 
emergency and condition of life, and if their testi- 
mony is refused, human consciousness is no longer 
a basis of knowledge. No one ever had a better 
friend than Mrs. Arnot has been to me ; she has been 
the means of saving me from disgrace, shame, and 
everything that was base, and I love her with a 
gratitude that is beyond words, and yet I am not so 
conscious of her practical help and friendship as that 
of the Divine Man who has been my patient unwav- 
ering friend in my long, hard struggle.” 

Under his words, the hard, dry despair of Amy 
had given way to gentler feelings, which found ex- 
pression in low, piteous sobbing. 


O PRICELESS LIFEt 


54J 


Oh, when will he come to me ? ” she asked, “ for 
I cannot doubt after such words.” 

‘'When you most need him. Miss Amy. It is 
your privilege to ask his comforting and sustaining 
presence now ; but he will come when he sees that 
you most need him.” 

“ If ever poor creatures needed suth a friend as 
you have described, we need him now, ’ faltered 
Mrs. Poland, turning her face toward them and then 
they knew that she had heard all. 

Amy sprang to her embrace, exclaiming, “ Mother, 
is it possible that we can find such a friend in our 
extremity ? ” 

“Amy, I am bewildered, I am overwhelmed.” 

Haldane carried little Bertha.to her crib and cov- 
ered her with an afghan. Then coming to the lady’s 
side he took her hand and said gently, and yet with 
that quiet firmness which does much to produce con- 
viction : “ Mrs. Poland, before leaving your husband 
to his quiet sleep we read words which Jesus Christ 
once spoke to a despairing, grief-stricken woman. 
Take them now as if spoken to you. ‘Jesiis said 
unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: he that 
believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he 
live ; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall 
never die.’ As your husband said to you, you will 
all surely meet again.” 

Then he lifted her hand to his lips in a caress that 
was full of sympathy and respect, and silently left 
the room. 


S44 


KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


CHAPTER LII. 

A MAN VERSUS A CONNOISSEUR. 

MY’S sad presentiment was almost verified. 



• l \. She was very ill, and for hours of painful 
uncertainty Haldane watched over her and admin- 
istered the remedies which Dr. Orton left ; and 
indeed the doctor himself was never absent very 
long, for his heart was bound up in the girl. At 
last, after a wavering poise, the scale turned in favor 
of life, and she began to slowly revive. 

Poor Mrs. Poland was so weak that she could not 
raise her head or hand, but, with her wistful, pathetic 
eyes, followed every motion, for she insisted on hav- 
ing Amy in the same room with herself. Aunt Saba, 
the old negress, to whom Mr. Poland had given her 
freedom, continued a faithful assistant. Bound to 
her mistress by the stronger chain of gratitude and 
affection, she served with fidelity in every way possi- 
ble to her ; and she and her husband were so old and 
humble that death seemingly had forgotten them. 

Before Amy was stricken down with the fever the 
look of unutterable dread and anxiety that was so 
painful to witness passed away, and gave place to an 
expression of quiet serenity. 

“ I need no further argument,” she had said to 


A MAN VERSUS A CONNOISSEUR, 


545 


Haldane ; “ Christ has come across the waves of my 
trouble. I am as sure of it as I am sure that you 
came to my aid. I do not know whether mother or 
Bertha or I will survive, but I believe that God’s 
love is as great as his power, and that in some way 
and at some time all will come out for the best. I 
have written to my friend abroad and to Auntie 
Arnot all about it, and now I am simply waiting. 
O, Mr. Haldane, I am so happy to tell you,” she had 
added, “ that I think mother is accepting the same 
faith, slowly and in accordance with her nature, but 
surely nevertheless. I am like father, quick and 
intense in my feelings. I feel that which is false 
or that which is true, rather than reason it out as 
mother does.” 

Aunt Saba and her husband managed to take care 
of Bertha and keep her mind occupied ; but before 
Amy’s convalescence had proceeded very far the 
little girl was suddenly prostrated by a most violent 
attack of the disease, and she withered before the 
hot fever like a fragile flower in a simoom. Haldane 
went hastily for Dr. Orton, but he gave scarcely a 
hope from the first. 

During the night following the day on which she 
had been stricken down a strange event occurred.* 
The sultry heat had been followed by a tropical 
thunder-storm, which had gathered in the darkness, 

* It is stated on high medical authority that “ all patients suffer 
more during thunder-sho-wers,” and an instance is given of a physician 
who was suffering from this fever, and who was killed as instantly, by 
a vivid flash and loud report, as if he had been struck by the 
lightning. 


546 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

and often gave to the midnight a momentary and 
brighter glare than that of the previous noon. The 
child would start as the flashes grew more intense, 
for they seemed to distress her very much. 

As Haldane was lifting her to give her a drink he 
said : 

“ Perhaps Bertie will see papa very soon.” 

Hearing the word “papa,” the child forgot her 
pain for a moment and smiled. At that instant 
there was a blinding flash of lightning, and the ap- 
palling thunder-peal followed without any interval. 

Both Mrs. Poland and Amy gave a faint and invol- 
untary cry of alarm, but Haldane’s eyes were fixed 
on the little smiling face that he held so near to his 
own. The smile did not fade. The old, perplexed 
expression of pain did not come back, and after a 
moment he said quietly and very gently : 

“ Bertie is with her father ; ” and he lifted her up 
and carried her to her mother, and then to Amy, 
that they might see the beautiful and smiling ex- 
pression of the child’s face. 

But their eyes were so blinded by tears, that they 
could scarcely see the face from which all trace of 
suffering had been banished almost as truly as from 
the innocent spirit. • 

Having laid her back in the crib, and arranged 
the little form as if sleeping, he carried the crib, 
with Aunt Saba’s help, to the room where Mr. Po- 
land had died. Then he told the old negress to 
return and remain with her mistress, and that he 
would watch over the body till morning. 

That quiet watch by the pure little child, with a 


A MAN VERSUS A CONNOISSEUR. 


547 


trace of heaven’s own beauty on her face, was to 
Haldane like the watch of the shepherds on the hill- 
side near Bethlehem. At times, in the deep hush 
that followed the storm, he was almost sure that he 
heard, faint and far av/ay, angelic minstrelsy and 
song. 

Haldane’s unusually healthful and vigorous con- 
stitution had thus far resisted the infection, but after 
returning from the sad duty of laying little Bertha’s 
remains by those of her father, he felt the peculiar 
languor which is so often the precursor of the chill 
and subsequent fever. Although he had scarcely 
hoped to escape an attack, he had never before 
realized how disastrous it would be to the very ones 
he had come to serve. Who was there to take care 
of him ? Mrs. Poland was almost helpness from 
nervous prostration. Amy required absolute quiet 
to prevent the more fatal relapse, which is almost 
certain to follow exertion made too early in con- 
valescence. He knew that if he were in the house 
she would make the attempt to do something for 
him, and he also knew it would be at the risk of her 
life. Old Aunt Saba was worn out in her attendance 
on Bertha, Amy, and Mrs. Poland. Her husband, 
and a stranger who had been at last secured to 
assist him, were required in the household duties. 

He took his decision promptly, for he felt that he 
had but brief time in which to act. Going to Mrs. 
Poland’s room, he said to her and Amy, 

“ I am glad to find you both so brave and doing 
as well as you are on this sad, sad day. I do not 
think you will take the disease, Mrs. Poland ; and you, 


548 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

Miss Amy, only need perfect quiet in order to get 
well. Please remember, as a great favor to me, 
how vitally important is the tranquillity of mind 
and body that I am ever preaching to you, and 
don’t do that which fatigues you in the slightest 
degree, till conscious of your old strength. And 
now I am going away for a little while. This is a 
time when every man should be at his post of duty. 
I am needed elsewhere, for I know of a case that 
requires immediate attention. Please do not re- 
monstrate,” he said, as they began to urge that he 
should take some rest ; “ my mission here has 
ended for the present and my duty is elsewhere. 
We won’t say good-by, for I shall not be far 
away ; *’ and although he was almost faint from 
weakness, his bearing was so decided and strong, 
and he appeared so bent on departure, that they 
felt that it would hardly be in good taste to say any- 
thing more. 

“ We are almost beginning to feel that Mr. Hal- 
dane belongs to us,” said Amy to her mother after- 
ward, “ and forget that he may be prompted by 
as strong a sense of duty to others.” 

As Haldane was leaving the house Dr. Orton 
drove to the door. Before he could alight the young 
man climbed into his buggy with almost desperate 
haste. 

“ Drive toward the city,” he said so decisively that 
the doctor obeyed. 

“ What’s the matter, Haldane ? Speak, man ; you 
look sick.” 

Take me to the city hospital. I am sick.” 


A MAN VERSUS A CONNOISSEUR. 


549 


I shall take you right back to Mrs. Poland’s,” 
said the doctor, pulling up. 

Haldane laid his hands on the reins, and then ex- 
plained his fears and the motive for his action. 

God bless you, old fellow ; but you are right. 
Any effort now would cost Amy her life, and she 
would make it if you were there. But you are not 
going to the hospital.” 

Dr. Orton’s intimate acquaintance with the city 
enabled him to place Haldane in a comfortable 
room near his own house, where he could give con- 
stant supervision to his case. He also procured a 
good nurse, whose sole duty was to take care of 
the young man. To the anxious questioning of 
Mrs. Poland and Amy from time to time, the doctor 
maintained the fiction, saying that Haldane was 
A^atching a very important case under his care ; and 
you know his way,” added the old gentleman, rub- 
bing his hands, as if he were enjoying something 
internally, “he won’t leave a case till I say it’s 
safe, even to visit you, of whom he speaks every 
chance he gets ; ” and thus the two ladies in their 
feeble state were saved all anxiety. 

They at length learned of the merciful ruse that 
had been played upon them by the appearance 
of their friend at their door in Dr. Orton’s buggy. 
As the old physician helped his patient, who was 
still rather weak, up the steps, he said with his hearty 
laugh : 

“ Haldane has watched over that case, that he and 
I told you of, long enough. We now turn the case 
over to you, Miss Amy. But all he requires is good 


550 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

living, and I’ll trust to you for that. He’s a trump, 
if he is a Yankee. But drat him, I thought he’d 
spoil the joke by dying, at one time.” 

The sentiments that people like Mrs. Poland and 
her daughter, Mrs. Arnot, and Laura, would naturally 
entertain toward one who had served them as Hal- 
dane had done, and at such risk to himself, can be 
better imagined than portrayed. They looked and 
felt infinitely more than they were ever permitted 
to say, for any expression of obligation was evident- 
ly painful to him. 

He speedily gained his old vigor, and before the 
autumn frosts put an end to the epidemic, was able 
to render Dr. Orton much valuable assistance. 

Amy became more truly his sister than ever his own 
had been to him. Her quick intuition soon dis- 
covered his secret — even the changing expression of 
his eyes at the mention of Laura’s name would have 
revealed it to her — but he would not let her speak 
on the subject. “ She belongs to another,” he said, 
“ and although to me she is the most beautiful and 
attractive woman in the world, it must be my life- 
long effort not to think of her.” 

His parting from Mrs. Poland and Amy tested his 
self-control severely. In accordance with her impul- 
sive nature, Amy put her arms about his neck as 
she said brokenly : 

You were indeed God’s messenger to us, and you 
brought us life. As father said, we shall all meet 
again.” 

On his return, Mrs. Arnot’s greeting was that of 
a mother ; but there were traces of constraint in 


A MAN VERSUS A CONNOISSEUR. 


55 » 


Laura's manner. When she first met him she tooh 
his hand in a strong, warm pressure, and said, with 
tears in her eyes : 

“ Mr. Haldane, I thank you for your kindness to 
Amy and auntie as sincerely as if it had all been 
rendered to me alone.” 

But after this first expression of natural feeling, 
Haldane was almost tempted to believe that she 
shunned meeting his eyes, avoided speaking to him, 
and even tried to escape from his society, by taking 
Mr. Beaumont’s arm and strolling off to some other 
apartment, when he was calling on Mrs. Arnot 
And yet if this were true, he was also made to feel 
that it resulted from no lack of friendliness or esteem 
on her part. 

“ She fears that my old-time passion may revive, 
and she would teach me to put a watch at the en- 
trance of its sepulchre,” he at length concluded; 
“ she little thinks that my love, so far from being 
dead, is a chained giant that costs me hourly vigi- 
lance to hold in life-long imprisonment.” 

But Laura understood him much better than he 
did her. Her manner was the result of a straight- 
forward effort to be honest. Of her own free will, 
and without even the slightest effort on the part of 
her uncle and aunt to incline her toward the wealthy 
and distinguished Mr. Beaumont, she had accepted 
all his attentions, and had accepted the man him- 
self. In the world’s estimation she would not have 
the slightest ground to find fault with him, for, from 
the first, both in conduct and manner, he had been 
irreproachable. 


552 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

When the telegram which announced Mr. Poland’s 
death was received, he tried to comfort her by words 
that were so peculiarly elegant and sombre, that, in 
spite of Laura’s wishes to think otherwise, they 
struck her like an elegiac address that had been 
carefully prearranged and studied ; and when the 
tidings of poor little Bertha’s death came, it would 
occur to Laura that Mr. Beaumont had thought his 
first little address so perfect that he could do no 
better than to repeat it, as one might use an appro- 
priate burial service on all occasions. He meant to 
be kind and considerate. He was “ ready to do any- 
thing in his power,” as he often said. But what was 
in his power ? As telegrams and letters came, tell- 
ing of death, of desperate illness, and uncertain life, 
of death again, of manly help, of woman-like self- 
sacrifice in the same man, her heart began to beat 
in quick, short, passionate throbs. But it would 
seem that nothing could ever disturb the even rhythm 
of Beaumont’s pulse. He tried to show his sympathy 
by turning his mind to all that was mournful and 
sombre in art and literature. One day he brought 
to her from New York what he declared to be the 
finest arrangement of dirge music for the piano ex- 
tant, and she quite surprised him by declaring with 
sudden passion that she could not and would not 
play a note of it. 

In her deep sorrow and deeper anxiety, in her 
strange and miserable unrest, which had its hidden 
root in a cause not yet understood, she turned to 
him again and again for sympathy, and he gave her 
abundant opportunity to seek it, for Laura was the 


A MAN l^EHSUS A CONNOISSEUR. 


5S3 


most beautiful object he had ever seen ; and there- 
fore, to feast his eye and gratify his ear, he spent 
much of Kis time with her ; so much, indeed, that she 
often grew drearily weary of him. But no matter 
when or how often she would look into his face for 
quick, heartfelt appreciation, she saw with instinc- 
tive certainty that, more than lover, more than friend, 
and eventually, more than husband, he was, and 
ever would be, a connoisseur. When she smiled he 
was admiring her, when she wept he was also admir- 
ing her. Whatever she did or said was constantly 
being looked at and studied from an aesthetic stand- 
point by this man, whose fastidious taste she had 
thus far satisfied. More than once she had found 
herself asking, “ Suppose I should lose my beauty, 
what would he do ? ” and the instinctive answer of 
her heart was : “ He would honorably try to keep 
all his pledges, but would look the other way.” 

Before she was aware of it, she had begun to com- 
pare her aflfianced with Haldane, and she found that 
the one was like a goblet of sweet, rich wine, that was 
already nearly exhausted and cloying to her taste ; 
the other was like a mountain spring, whose waters 
are pure, ever new, unfailing, prodigally abundant, 
inspiring yet slaking thirst. 

But she soon saw whither such comparisons were 
leading her, and recognized her .danger and her duty. 
She had plighted her faith to another, and he had 
given her no good reason to break that faith. Laura 
had a conscience, and she as resolutely set to work 
to shut out Haldane from her heart, as he, poor 
man, had tried to exclude her image, and from very 
«4 


554 tC MIGHT OF THE NINETEEHTH CENTURY. 


much the same cause. But the heart is a wayward 
organ and is often at sword’s-point with both will 
and conscience, and frequently, in spite of all that she 
could do, it would array Haldane on the one side and 
Beaumont on the other, and so it would eventually 
come to be, the man who loved her, versus the con- 
noisseur who admired her, but whose absorbing 
passion for himself left no place for any other strong 
affection. 


SXIT OF LA URA^S FIRST KNIGHT. 


555 


CHAPTER LIII. 

EXIT OF LAURA’S FIRST KNIGHT. 

H aldane was given but nttle time for quiet 
study, for, before the year closed, tidings 
came from his mother, who was then in Italy, that 
she was ill and wished to see him. Poor Mrs. Hal- 
dane had at last begun to understand her son’s 
character better, and to realize that he would re- 
trieve the past. She also reproached herself that 
she had not been more sympathetic and helpful to 
him, and was not a little jealous that he should have 
found better and more appreciative friends than 
herself. And, at last, when she was taken ill, she 
longed to see him, and he lost not a moment in 
reaching her side. 

Her illness, however, did not prove very serious, 
and she improved rapidly after a young gentleman 
appeared who was so refined in his manners, so con- 
siderate and deferential in his bearing toward her 
that she could scarcely believe that he was the same 
with tlie wild, wretched youth who had been in jail, 
and, what was almost as bad, who had worked in a 
mill. 

Haldane made the most of his opportunities in 
seeing what was beautiful in nature and art while in 


556 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

the old world, but his thoughts turned with increas- 
ing frequency to his own land — not only because it 
contained the friends he loved so well, but also be- 
cause events were now rapidly culminating for that 
great struggle between the two jarring sections that 
will eventually form a better and closer union on 
the basis of a mutual respect, and a better and truer 
knowledge of each other. 

When Mrs. Haldane saw that her son was deter- 
mined to take part in the conflict, he began to seem 
to her more like his old unreasonable self. She fee- 
bly remonstrated as a matter of course, and proved 
to her own satisfaction that it was utter folly for a 
young man who had the enjoyment of such large 
wealth as her son to risk the loss of every thing in 
the hardships and dangers of war. He was as kind 
and considerate as possible, but she saw from the 
old and well-remembered expression of his eyes that 
he would carry out his own will nevertheless, and 
therefore she and his sisters reluctantly returned 
with him. 

Having safely installed them in their old home, 
and proved by the aid of Dr. Marks and some other 
leading citizens of his native city that they had no 
further occasion tu seclude themselves from the 
world, he returned to Hillaton to aid in organizing 
a regiment that was being recruited there, and in 
which Mr. Ivison had assured him of a commission. 
By means of the acquaintances he had made through 
his old mission class, he was able to secure enlist- 
ments rapidly, and although much of the material 
that he brought in was unpromising in its first ap- 


EXIT OF LA UFA'S FIRST KNIGHT. 


557 


pearance, he seemed to have the faculty of trans- 
forming the slouching dilapidated fellows into sol- 
diers, and it passed into general remark that “ Hal- 
dane's company was the roughest to start with, and 
the best disciplined and most soldierly of them all 
when ordered to the seat of war.” 

The colonelcy of the regiment was given to Mr. 
Beaumont, not only on account of his position, but 
also because of his large liberality in fitting it out. 
He took a vast interest in the aesthetic features of 
its equipment, style of uniform, and like matters, 
and he did most excellent service in insisting on 
neatness, good care of weapons, and a soldier-like 
bearing from the first. 

While active in this work he rose again in Laura’s 
esteem, for he seemed more manly and energetic 
than he had shown himself to be before ; and what 
was still more in his favor, he had less time for the 
indulgence of his taste as a connoisseur with her 
fair but often weary face as the object of contempla- 
tion. 

She, with many others, visited the drill-ground 
almost daily, and when she saw the tall and graceful 
form of Mr. Beaumont issuing from the colonel’s 
tent, when she saw him mount his superb white 
horse, which he managed with perfect skill, when she 
saw the sun glinting on his elegant sword and gold 
epaulettes, and heard his sonorous orders to the men, 
she almost felt that all Hillaton was right, and that 
she had reason to be proud of him, and to be as 
happy as the envious belles of the city deemed her 
to be. But in spite of herself, her eyes would wan- 


558 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

der from the central figure to plain Captain Hal- 
dane, wh6, ignoring the admiring throng, was giving 
his whole attention to his duty. 

Before she was aware, the thought began to creep 
into her mind, however, that to one man these 
scenes were military pageants, and to the other they 
meant stern and uncompromising war. 

This impression had speedy confirmation, for one 
evening when both Mr. Beaumont and Haldane hap- 
pened to be present, Mrs. Arnot remarked in effect 
that her heart misgave her when she looked into the 
future, and that the prospect of a bloody war be- 
tween people of one race and faith was simply hor- 
rible. 

“ It will not be very bloody,” remarked Mr. Beau- 
mont, lightly. “ After things have gone about so far 
the politicians on both sides will step in and patch 
up a compromise. Our policy at the North is to 
make an imposing demonstration. This will have the 
effect of bringing the fire-eaters to their senses, and if 
this woVi’t answer we must get enough men together to 
walk right over the South, and end the nonsense at 
once. I have traveled through the South, and know 
that it can be done.” 

‘ Pardon me. Colonel,” said Haldane, “ but since 
we are not on the drill-ground I have a right to dif- 
fer with you. I anticipate a very bloody, and, per- 
haps, a long war. I have not seen so much of the 
South, but I have seen something of its people. The 
greatest heroism I ever saw manifested in my life 
was by a young Southern girl, and if such are their 
women we shall find the men foemen abundantly 


EXIT OF LA UFA 'S FIRST KNIGHT, 


559 


worthy of our steel. We shall indeed have to lit- 
erally walk over them, that is, such of us as are left 
and able to walk. I agree with Mrs. Arnot, and I 
tremble for the future of my country.’’ 

Mr. Beaumont forgot himself for once so far as to 
say, Oh, if you find such cause for trembling — ” 
but Laura’s indignant face checked further utter- 
ance. 

I propose to do my duty,” said Haldane, with a 
quiet smile, though a quick flush showed that he felt 
the slur, and it will be your duty, Colonel, to see 
that I do.” 

‘‘ You have taught us that the word duty means 
a great deal to you, Egbert,” said Mrs. Arnot, and 
then the matter dropped. But the animus of each 
man had been quite clearly revealed, and the ques- 
tion would rise in Laura’s mind, “ Does not the one 
belittle the occasion because little himself?” Al- 
though she dreaded the coming war inexpressibly, 
she took Haldane’s view of it. His tribute to her 
cousin Amy also touched a very tender chord. 

On the ground of having secured so many recruits 
Mr. Ivison urged that Haldane should have the rank 
of major, but at that time those things were con 
trolled largely by political influence and favoritism, 
and there were still not a few in Hillaton who both 
thought and spoke of the young man’s past record 
as a good reason why he should not have any rank 
at all. He quietly took what was given him and 
asked for nothing more. 

All now know that Mr. Beaumont’s view was not 
correct and as the conflict thickened and deepened 


56 o knight of the nineteenth century. 

that elegant gentleman became more and more dis 
gusted. Not that he lacked personal courage, but, as 
he often remarked, it was the “ horrid style of living ” 
that he could not endure. He could not find an 
aesthetic element in the blinding dust or unfathoma- 
ble mud of Virginia. 

As was usually the case, there was in the regi- 
ment a soldier gifted with the power and taste for 
letter-writing, and he kept the local papers quite 
well posted concerning affairs in the regiment. One 
item concerning Beaumont will indicate the con- 
dition of his mind. After describing the “ awful " 
nature of the roads and weather, the writer added, 
“ The Colonel looks as if in a chronic state of dis- 
gust.’’ 

Suddenly the regiment was ordered to the far 
South-west. This was more than Beaumont could 
endure, for in his view life in that region would 
be a burden under any circumstances. He coolly 
thought the matter over, and concluded that he 
would rather go home, marry Laura, and take a 
tour in Europe, and promptly executed the first 
part of his plan by resigning on account of ill- 
health. He had a bad cold, it is true, which had 
chiefly gone to his head and made him very uncom- 
fortable, and so inflamed his nose that the examining 
physician misjudged the exemplary gentleman, recom- 
mending that his resignation be accepted, more from 
the fear that his habits were bad than from any other 
cause. But by the time he reached Hillaton his nose 
was itself again, and he as elegant as ever. The 
political major had long since disappeared, and so 


EXIT OF LA [/FA'S FIRST KNIGHT. 561 

Haldane started for his distant field of duty as lieu- 
tenant-colonel. 

The regimental letter-writer chronicled this promo- 
tion in the Hillaton Courur with evident satisfaction. 

'* Lieut. -Col. Haldane," he w/ote, “is respected by all and liked 
by the majority. He keeps us rigidly to our duty, but is kind and 
considerate nevertheless. He is the most useful officer I ever hoard 
of. Now he is chaplain and again he is surgeon. He coaxes the 
money away from the men and sends it home to their families, other- 
wise much of it would be lost in gambling. Many a mother and 
wife in Hillaton hears from the absent oftener because the Colonel 
urges the boys to write, and writes for those who are unable. To give 
you a sample of the man I will tell you what I saw not long ago. 
The roads were horrible as usual, and some of the men were getting 
played out on the march. The first thing I knew a sick man was on 
the Major’s horse (he was Major then), and he was trudging along in 
the mud with the rest of us, and carrying the muskets of three other 
men who were badly used up.* We want the people of Hillaton to 
understand, that if any of us get back we won’t hear anything more 
against Haldane. Nice, pretty fellows, who don’t like to get their 
boots muddy, as our ex-Colonel for instance, may be more to their 
taste, but they ain’t to ours.” 

Laura read this letter with cheeks that reddened 
with shame and then grew very pale. 

“ Auntie, ” she said, showing it to Mrs. Arnot, I 
cannot marry that man. .1 would rather die first.*' 

“ I do not wonder that you feel so,” replied Mrs 
Arnot emphatically. With all his wealth and cul- 
ture I neither would nor could marry him, and 
would tell him so. I have felt sure that ycu would 

* I cannot refrain here from paying a tribute to my old schoolmate 
and friend, Major James Cromwell, of the 124th New York Volun 
teers, whom I have seen plodding along in the mud in a November 
storm, a sick soldier riding his horse, while he carried the accoutre- 
ments of other men who were giving out from exhaustion. Major Crom- 
well was killed while leading a charge at the battle of Gettysburg. 

24* 


® 562 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

come to this conclusion, but I wished your own 
heart and conscience to decide the matter.” 

But before Laura could say to Mr. Beaumont that 
which she felt she must, and yet which she dreaded, 
for his sake, to speak, a social earthquake took place 
in Hillaton. 

Mr. Arnot was arrested ! But for the promptness 
of his friends to give bail for his appearance, he 
Would have been taken from his private office to 
prison as poor Haldane had been years before. 

It would be wearisome to tell the long story of his 
financial distress, which he characteristically kept 
concealed from his wife. Experiences like his are 
only too common. With his passion for business he 
had extended it to the utmost limit of his capital. 
Then came a time of great depression and contrac- 
tion. Prompted by a will that had never been thwart- 
ed, and a passion for routine which could endure no 
change, he made Herculean effort to keep every thing 
moving on with mechanical regularity. His strong 
business foresight detected the coming change for 
the better in the business world, and with him it 
was only a question of bridging over the intervening 
gulf. He sank his own property in his effort to do 
this ; then the property of his wife and Laura, which he 
held in trust. Then came the great temptation of his 
life. He was joint trustee of another very large prop- 
erty, and the co-executor was in Europe, and would 
be absent for years. In order to use some of the funds 
of this property it was necessary to have the signa- 
ture of this gentleman. With the infatuation of 
those who dally with this kind of temptation, Mr 


EXIT OF LA UFA'S FIRST KNIGHT, 563 

Arnot felt sure that he could soon make good all 
that he should use in his present emergency, and 
therefore, forged the name of the co-trustee. The 
gentleman returned from Europe unexpectedly, and 
the crime was discovered and speedily proved. 

It was now that Mrs. Arnot proved what a noble 
and womanly nature she possessed. Without pal- 
liating his fault, she ignored the whole scoffing, chat- 
tering world, and stood by her husband with as wifely 
devotion as if his crime had been misfortune, and 
he himself had been the affectionate considerate 
friend that she had believed he would be, when as a 
blushing maiden she had accepted the hand that had 
grown so hard, and cold, and heavy. 

Mr. Beaumont was stunned and bewildered. At 
first he scarcely knew what to do, although his sa- 
gacious father and mother told him very plainly to 
break the engagement at once. But the trouble 
with Mr. Beaumont upon this occasion was that 
he was a man of honor, and for once he almost re- 
gretted the fact. But since he was, he believed that 
there was but one course open for him. Although 
Laura was now penniless, and the same almost as 
the daughter of a man who would soon be in State 
prison, he had promised to marry her. She must 
become the mistress of the ancient and aristocratic 
Beaumont mansion. 

He braced himself, as had been his custom when 
a battle was in prospect, and went down to the beau- 
tiful villa which would be Laura’s home but a few 
days longer. 

As he entered, she saw that he was about to perform 
the one heroic act of his life, but she was cruel enough 


564 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

to prevent even that one, and so reduced his whole ca- 
reer to one consistently elegant and polished surface. 

He had taken her hand, and was about to address 
her in the most appropriate language, and with all 
the dignity of self-sacrifice, when she interrupted 
him by saying briefly : 

“ Mr. Beaumont, please listen to me first. Before 
the most unexpected event occurred which has made 
so great a change in my fortunes, and I may add, in 
so many of my friends, I had decided to say to you in 
all sincerity and kindness that I could not marry 
you. I could not give you that love which a wife 
ought to give to a husband. I now repeat my de- 
cision still more emphatically.” 

Mr. Beaumont was again stunned and bewildered. 
A woman declining to marry him ! 

“ Can nothing change your decision ? ” he faltered, 
fearing that something might. 

Nothing,” she coldly replied, and with an invol- 
untary expression of contempt hovering around her 
flexible mouth. 

*‘But what will you do?” he asked, prompted by 
not a little curiosity. 

“ Support myself by honest work,” was her quiet 
but very decisive answer. 

Mr. Beaumont now felt that there was nothing 
more to be done but to make a little elegant fare- 
well address, and depart, and he would make it in 
spite of all that she could do. 

The next thing she heard of him was that he had 
started on a tour of Europe, and, no doubt, in his 
old character of a connoisseur, whose judgment few 
dared to dispute. 


ANOTHER KNIGHT APPEARS. 


S65 


CHAPTER LIV. 

ANOTHER KNIGHT APPEARS. 

HE processes of law were at length complete, 



A and Mr. Arnot found himself in a prison cell, 
with the prospect that years must elapse before he 
would receive a freedom that now was dreaded 
almost more than his forced seclusion. After his 
conviction he had been taken from Hillaton to a 
large prison of the State, in a distant city. 

“ I shall follow you, Thomas, as soon as I can 
complete such arrangements as are essential," Mrs. 
Arnot had said, “ and will remain as near to you as I 
can. Indeed, it will be easier for Laura and me to 
commence our new life there than here." 

The man had at last begun to realize the whole 
truth. True to his nature, he thought of himself 
first, and saw that his crime, like a great black hand, 
had dragged him down from his proud eminence 
of power and universal respect, away from his be- 
loved business, and had shut him up in this narrow 
stony sepulchre, for what better was his prison cell 
than a tomb to a man with his tireless mind ? The 
same mind which like a giant had carried its huge 
burden every day, was still his ; but now there was 
nothing for it to do. And yet it would act, for 


566 KNIGHT OP THP NINPTPPNTH CENTVPY. 

constant mental action had become a necessity from 
a lifetime of habit. Heretofore his vast business 
taxed every faculty to the utmost. He had to keep 
his eye on all the great markets of the world ; he had 
to follow politicians, diplomats, and monarchs into 
their secret councils, and guess at their policy in ordei 
to shape his own business policy. His interests were 
BO large and far reaching that it had been necessary 
for him to take a glance over the world before he 
could properly direct his affairs from his private 
office. For years he had been commanding a small 
army of men, and with consummate skill and con- 
stant thought he had arrayed the industry of his 
army against the labors of like armies under the 
leadership of other men in competition with him- 
self. His mind had learned to flash with increasing 
speed and accuracy to one and another of all these 
varied interests. But now the great fabric of busi- 
ness and wealth, which he had built by a lifetime of 
labor, had vanished like a dream, and nothing re- 
mained but the mind that had constructed it. 

“ Ah ! ” he groaned agam and again, why could 
not mind and memory perish also ? ” 

But they remained, and were the only possessions 
left of his great wealth. 

Then he began to think of his wife and Laura. He 
had beggared them, and what was far worse, he had 
darkened their lives with the shadow of his own dis- 
grace. Wholly innocent as they were, they must 
suffer untold wretchedness through his act. In his 
view he was the cause of the broken engagement 
between his niece and the wealthy Mr. Beaumont^ 


ANOTHER KNIGHT ARREARS. 567 

and now he saw that there was nothing before the 
girl but a dreary effort to gain a livelihood by her 
own labor, and this effort rendered almost hopeless 
by the reflected shame of his crime. 

His wife also was growing old and feeble. At last 
he realized he had a wife such as is given to but few 
men — a woman who was great enough to be tender 
and sympathetic through all the awful weeks that 
had elapsed since the discovery of his crime — a 
woman who could face what she saw before her and 
utter no words of repining or reproach. 

He now saw how cold and hard and unapprecia- 
tive he had been toward her in the days of his pros- 
perity, and he cursed himself and his unutterable 
folly. 

Thus his great powerful mind turned in vindictive 
rage against itself. Memory began to show him 
with mocking finger and bitter jibes where he might 
have acted more wisely in his business, more wisely 
in his social relations, and especially more wisely 
and humanely, to say the least, in his own home. 
It seemed to take a fiendllh delight in telling him 
how every thing might have been different, and how 
he, instead of brooding in a prison cell, might have 
been the most honored, useful, wealthy, and happy 
man in Hillaton. 

Thus he was tortured until physical exhaustion 
brought him a brief respite of sleep. But the next 
day it was the same wretched round of bitter mem- 
ories and vain but torturing activity of mind. Day 
after day passed and he grew haggard under his in- 
creasing mental distress. His mind was like a great 


568 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

driving wheel, upon which all the tremendous motive 
power is turned without cessation, but for which 
there is nothing to drive save the man himself, and 
seemingly it would drive him mad. 

At last he said to himself, I cannot endure this 
For my own sake, for the sake of my wife and Laura, 
it were better that an utter blank should take the 
place of Thomas Arnot. I am, and ever shall be, only 
a burden to them. I am coming to be an intoler- 
able burden to myself.” 

The thought of suicide, once entertained, grew 
rapidly in favor, and at last it became only a ques- 
tion how he could carry out his dark purpose. With 
this definite plan before him he grew calmer. At 
last he had something to do in the future, and ter- 
rible memory must suspend for a time its scorpion 
lash while he thought how best to carry out his plan. 

The suicide about to take the risk of endless suf- 
fering is usually desirous that the intervening mo- 
ments of his “taking off” should be as painless 
as possible, and Mr. Arnot began to think how he 
could make his exit momentary. But his more 
tranquil mood, the result of having some definite 
action before him, led to sleep, and the long night 
passed in unconsciousness, the weary body clogging 
the wheels of conscious thought. 

The sun was shining when he awoke ; but with 
returning consciousness came memory and pain, and 
the old cowardly desire to escape all the conse- 
quences of his sin by death. He vowed he would 
not live to see another day, and once more he com- 
menced brooding over the one question, how he 


ANOTHER KNIGHT APPEARS. 569 

would die. As he took up this question where he 
had dropped it the previous night, the thought oc- 
curred to him what a long respite he had had from 
pain. Then like a flash of lightning came another 
thought : 

‘‘Suppose by my self-destroying act I pass into 
a condition of life in which there is no sleep, and 
memory can torture without cessation, without re- 
spite? True, I have tried to believe there is no 
future life, but am I sure of it ? Here I can obtain 
a little rest. For hours I have been unconscious, 
through the weight of the body upon my spirit. 
How can I be sure that the spirit cannot exist 
separately and suffer just the same? I am not suf- 
fering now through my body, and have not been 
through all these terrible days. My body is here in 
this cell, inert and motionless, painless, while in my 
mind I am enduring the torments of the damned. 
The respite from suffering that I have had has come 
through the weariness of my body, and here I am 
planning to cast down the one barrier that perhaps 
saves me from an eternity of torturing thought and 
memory.” 

He was appalled at the bare possibility of such a 
future ; reason told him that such a future was prob- 
able, and conscience told him that it was before him 
in veritable truth. He felt that wherever he carried 
memory and his present character he would be most 
miserable, whether it were in Dante’s Inferno, Mil- 
ton’s Paradise, or the heaven or hell of the Bible. 

There was no more thought of suicide. Indeed, 
he shrank from death with inexpressible dread. 


570 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

Slowly his tho ights turned to his wife, the woman 
who had been so true to him, the one human being 
of all the world who now stood by him. She might 
help him in his desperate strait. She seemed to 
have a principle within her soul which sustained her, 
and which might sustain him. At any rate, he 
longed to see her once more, and ask her forgiveness 
in deep contrition for his base and life-long failure to 
“ love, honor, and cherish her,” as he had promised 
at God’s altar and before many witnesses. 

The devoted wife came and patiently entered on 
her ministry of love and Christian faith, and out of 
the chaos of the fallen man of iron and stone there 
gradually emerged a new man, who first became in 
Christ’s expressive words “a little child ” in spirit- 
ual things, that he might grow naturally and in the 
symmetry of the enduring manhood which God de- 
signs to perfect in the coming ages. 

Mrs. Arnot’s sturdy integrity led her to give up 
everything to her husband’s creditors, and she came 
to the city of her new abode wherein the prison was 
located almost penniless. But she brought letters 
from Dr. Barstow, Mr. Ivison, and other Christian 
people of Hillaton. These were presented at a 
church of the denomination to which she be- 
longed, and all she asked was some employment 
by which she and Laura could support themselves. 
These letters secured confidence at once. There 
was no mystery — nothing concealed — and, although 
so shadowed by the disgrace of another, the bearing 
of the ladies inspired respect and won sympathy. A 
gentleman connected with the church gave Laura the 


ANOTHER KNIGHT ARREARS. 


571 


position of saleswoman in his bookstore, and to Mrs. 
Arnot’s little suburban cottage of only three rooms 
kind and interested ladies brought sewing and fan- 
cy-work. Thus they were provided for, as God’s 
people ever are in some way. 

Mrs. Arnot had written a long letter to Haldane 
before leaving Hillaton, giving a full account of 
their troubles, with one exception. At Laura’s re- 
quest she had not mentioned the broken engage- 
ment with Beaumont. 

If possible, I wish to see him myself before he 
knows,” she had said. “At least, before any corre- 
spondence takes place between us, I wish to look 
into his eyes, and if I see the faintest trace of shrink- 
ing from me there, as I saw it in Mr. Beaumont’s 
eyes, I will never marry him, truly as I love him.” 

Mrs. Arnot’s face had lighted up with its old- 
time expression, as she said : 

“ Laura, don’t you know Egbert Haldane better 
than that ?” 

“ I can’t help it,” she had replied with a troubled 
brow ; “ the manner of nearly every one has changed 
so greatly that I must see him first.” 

Haldane did not receive Mrs. Arnot’s first letter. 
He was at sea with his regiment, on his way to the 
far Southwest, when the events in which he would 
have been so deeply interested began to occur. 
After reaching his new scene of duty, there were 
constant alternations of march and battle. In the 
terrible campaign that followed, the men of the 
army he was acting with were decimated, and of- 
ficers dropped out fast. In consequence, Haldane, 


572 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

who received but two slight wounds, that did not 
disable him, was promoted rapidly. The colonel of 
the regiment was killed soon after their arrival, and 
from the command of the regiment he rose, before 
the campaign was over, to command a brigade, and 
then a division ; and he performed his duties so faith- 
fully and ably that he was confirmed in this position. 

Mrs. Arnot’s first letter had followed him around 
for a time, and then was lost, like so many others 
in that time of dire confusion. Her second letter 
after long delay reached him, but it was very brief 
and hurried, and referred to troubles that he did not 
understand. From members of his old regiment, 
however, rumors reached him of some disaster to 
Mr. Arnot, and wrong-doing on his part, which had 
led to imprisonment. 

Haldane was greatly shocked at the bare possi- 
bility of such events, and wrote a most sympathetic 
letter to Mrs. Arnot, which never reached her. She 
had received some of his previous letters, but not 
this one. 

By the time the campaign was over one of Hal- 
dane’s wounds began to trouble him very much, and 
his health seemed generally broken down from ^- 
posure and over-exertion. As a leave of absence 
was offered him, he availed himself of it and took 
passage to New York. 

Three or four letters from his mother had reached 
him, but that lady’s causeless jealousy of Mrs. Arnot 
had grown to such proportions that she never men- 
tioned her old friend’s name. 

The long days of the homeward voyage were 


ANOTHER KNIGHT ARREARS. 


573 


passed by Haldane in vain conjecture. Of one 
thing he felt quite sure, and that was that Laura 
was by this time, or soon would be, Mrs. Beaumont; 
and now that the excitement of military service was 
over, the thought rested on him with a weight that 
was almost crushing. 

One evening Mr. Growther was dozing as usual 
between his cat and dog, when some one lifted the 
latch and walked in without the ceremony of knock- 
ing. 

“ Look here, stranger, where’s yer manners ? ” 
snarled the old gentleman. Then catching a glimpse 
of the well-remembered face, though now obscured 
by a tremendous beard, he started up, exclaiming. 
Lord a’ massy ! ’tain’t you, is it? And you com- 
pared yourself with that little, peaked-faced chap 
that’s around just the same — you with shoulders as 
broad as them are, and two stars on ’em too ! ” 

The old man nearly went beside himself with joy. 
He gave the cat and dog each a vigorous kick, and 
told them to “ wake up and see if they could be- 
lieve their eyes.” 

It was some time before Haldane could get him 
quieted down so as to answer all the questions that 
he was longing to put ; but at last he drew out the 
story in full of Mr. Arnot’s forgery and its conse- 
quences. 

** Has Mr. Beaumont married Miss Romeyn ? ” at 
last he faltered. 

“ No ; I reckon not,” said Mr. Growther dryly. 

" What do you mean ? ” asked Haldane sharply. 

'‘Well, all I know is that he didn’t marry her, 


574 knight of the nineteenth century. 

and she ain’t the kind of a girl to marry him, 
whether he would or no, and so they ain’t married.” 

“The infernal scoundrel!” thundered Haldane, 
springing to his feet. “ The — ” 

“ Hold on I ” cried Mr. Growther. “ Oh, Lord a’ 
massy ! I half believe he’s got to swearin’ down in 
the war. If he’s backslid agin, nothin’ but my lit- 
tle, peaked-faced chap will ever bring him around a 
nuther time.” 

Haldane was stalking up and down the room in 
strong excitement and quite oblivious of Mr. Grow- 
ther’s perplexity. 

“ The unutterable fool ! ” he exclaimed, “ to part 
from such a woman as Laura Romeyn for any cause 
save death.” 

“Well, hang it all! if he’s a fool that’s his busi- 
ness. What on ’arth is the matter with you ? I 
ain’t used to havin’ bomb-shells go off right under 
my nose as you be, and the way you are explodin’ 
round kinder takes away my breath.” 

“Forgive me, my old friend; but I never had a 
shot strike quite as close as this. Poor girl ! poor 
girl ! What a prospect she had a few months since. 
True enough, Beaumont was never a man to my 
taste ; but a woman sees no faults in the man she 
loves ; and he could have given her every thing that 
her cultivated taste could wish for. Poor girl, she 
must be broken-hearted with all this trouble and 
disappointment.” 

“ If I was you. I’d go and see if she was,” said 
Mr. Growther, with a shrewd twinkle in his eyes. 
“ I’ve heerd tell of hearts bein’ mended in my day,’' 


ANOTHER KNIGHT ARREARS. 


575 


Haldane looked at him a moment, and, as he caught 
his old friend’s meaning, he brought his hand down 
on the table with a force that made every thing in 
the old kitchen ring again. 

“ O Lord a massy ! ” ejaculated Mr. Growther, 
hopping half out of his chair. 

“ Mr. Growther,” said Haldane, starting up, I 
came to have a very profound respect for youf 
sagacity and wisdom years ago, but to-night you 
have surpassed Solomon himself. I shall take your 
most excellent advice at once and go and see.” 

“ Not to-night — ” 

“Yes, I can yet catch the owl train to-night. 
Good-by for a short time.” 

“ No wonder he took the rebs’ works, if he went 
for ’em like that,” chuckled Mr. Growther, as he 
composed himself after the excitement of the unex- 
pected visit. “ Now I know what made him look 
so long as if something was a-gnawin’ at his heart ; 
so I’m a-thinkin’ there’ll be two hearts mended.” 

Haldane reached the city in which Mrs. Arnot 
resided early in the morning, and as he had no clue 
to her residence, he felt that his best chance of hear- 
ing of her would be at the prison itself, for he knew 
well that she would seek either to see or learn of 
her husband’s welfare almost daily. In answer to 
his inquiries, he was told that she would be sure to 
come to the prison at such an hour in the evening 
since that was her custom. 

He must get through the day the best he could, 
and so strolled off to the business part of the city, 
where was located the leading hotel, and was fol- 


576 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

lowed by curious eyes and surmises. Major generals 
were not in the habit of inquiring at the prison after 
convicts’ wives. 

As he passed a bookstore, it occurred to him that 
an exciting story would help kill time, and he saun- 
tered in and commenced looking over the latest publi- 
cations that were seductively arranged near the door. 

“ I’ll go to breakfast now. Miss,” said the junior 
clerk who swept the store. 

“Thank you. Oh, go quickly,” murmured Laura 
Romeyn to herself, as with breathless interest she 
watched the unconscious officer, waiting till he 
should look up and recognize her standing behind a 
counter. She was destined to have her wish in 
very truth, for when he saw her he would be so 
surely off his guard from surprise that she could see 
into the very depths of his heart. 

Would he never look up? She put her hand to 
her side, for anticipation was so intense as to become 
a pain. She almost panted from excitement. This 
was the supreme moment of her life, but the very 
fact of his coming to this city promised well for the 
hope which fed her life. 

“ Ah, he is reading. The thought of some 
stranger holds him, while my intense thoughts and 
feelings no more affect him than if I were a thou- 
sand miles away. How strong and manly he looks ! 
How well that uniform becomes him, though evi- 
dently worn and battle-stained ! Ah ! two stars 
upon his shoulder ! Can it be that he has won such 
high rank? What will he think of poor me, selling 
books for bread? Egbert Haldane, beware ! If you 


ANOTHER KNIGHT APPEARS. 


577 

shrink from me now, even in the expression of your 
eye, I stand aloof from you forever.” 

The man thus standing on the brink of fate, read 
leisurely on, smiling at some quaint fancy of the 
author, who had gained his attention for a moment. 

“Heigh ho I ” he said at last, “this stealing diver- 
sion from a book unbought is scarcely honest, so 1 
will—” 

The book dropped from his hands, and he passed 
his hands across his eyes as if to brush away a film. 
Then his face lighted up with all the noble and sym- 
pathetic feeling that Laura had ever wished or 
hoped to see, and he sprang impetuously toward her. 

“ Miss Romeyn,” he exclaimed. “ Oh, this is 
better than I hoped.” 

“ Did you hope to find me earning my bread in 
this humble way?” she faltered, deliciously con- 
scious that he was almost crushing her hand in a 
grasp that was all too friendly. 

“ I was hoping to find you — and Mrs. Arnot,” he 
added with a sudden deepening of color. “ I thought 
a long day must elapse before I could learn of your 
residence.” 

“ Do you know all ? ” she asked, very gravely. 

“ Yes, Miss Romeyn,” he replied with moistening 
eyes, “ I know all. Perhaps my past experience en- 
ables me to sympathize with you more than others 
can. But be that as it may, I do give you the 
whole sympathy of my heart; and for this brave 
effort to win your own bread 1 respect and honor 
you more, if possible, than I did when you were in 
your beautiful home at Hillaton,” 

*5 


578 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

Laura’s tears were now falling fast, but she was 
smiling nevertheless, and she said, hesitatingly. 

I do not consider myself such a deplorable ob- 
ject of sympathy ; I have good health, a kind em- 
ployer, enough to live upon,, and a tolerably clear 
conscience. Of course I do feel deeply for auntie and 
uncle, and yet I think auntie is happier than she 
has been for many years. If all had remained 
as it was at Hillaton, the ice around uncle’s heart 
would have grown harder and thicker to the end; 
now it is melting away, and auntie’s thoughts reach 
so far beyond time and earth, that she is forgetting 
the painful present in thoughts of the future.” 

“ I have often asked myself,” exclaimed Haldane, 

“ could God have made a nobler woman ? Ah I 
Miss Laura, you do not know how much I owe to 
her.” 

“You have taught us that God can make noble 
men also.” 

“ I have merely done my duty,” he said, with a 
careless gesture. “ When can I see Mrs. Arnot? ” 

“ I can’t go home till noon, but I think I can di- 
rect you to the house.” 

“ Can I not stay and help you sell books ? Then * 
I can go home with you.” 

“ A major-general behind the counter selling 
books would make a sensation in town, truly.” 

“ If the people were of my way of thinking. Miss 
Laura Romeyn selling books would make a far 
greater sensation.” 

“Very few are of your way of thinking, Mr. Hal- 
dane.” 


ANOTHER KNIGHT ARREARS. 


579 


“ I am heartily glad of it,” he ejaculated. 

“.ndeed!” 

“ Pardon me, Miss Romeyn,” he said with a deep 
flush, “you do not understand what I mean.” Then 
he burst out impetuously, “ Miss Laura, I cannot 
school myself into patience. I have been in despair 
so many years that since I now dare to imagine that 
there is a bare chance for me, I cannot wait deco- 
rously for some fitting occasion. But if you can 
give me even the faintest hope I will be patience 
and devotion itself.” 

“Hope of what?” said Laura, faintly turning 
away her face. 

“ Oh, Miss Laura, I ask too much,” he answered 
sadly. 

“ You have not asked anything very definitely, 
Mr. Haldane,” she faltered. 

“ I ask for the privilege of trying to win you as 
my wife.” 

“Ah, Egbert,” she cried, joyously, “you have 
stood the test ; for if you had shrunk, even in your 
thoughts, from poor, penniless Laura Romeyn, with 
her uncle in yonder prison, you might have tried in 
vain to win me.” 

“ God knows I did not shrink,” he said eagerly, 
and reaching out his hand across the counter. 

“ I know it too,” she said shyly. 

“ Laura, all that I am, or ever can be, goes with 
that hand.” 

She put her hand in his, and looking into his face 
with an expression which he had never seen before, 
she said : 


580 KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

“ Egbert, I have loved you ever since you went, as 
a true knight, to the aid of cousin Amy.” 

And thus they plighted their faith to each other 
across the counter, and then he came around on her 
side. 

We shall not attempt to portray the meeting 
between Mrs. Arnot and one whom she had learn- 
ed to look upon as a son, and who loved her with 
an affection that had its basis in the deepest grati- 
tude. 

Our story is substantially ended. It only remains 
to be said that Haldane, by every means in his 
power, showed gentle and forbearing consideration 
for his mother’s feelings, and thus she was eventually 
led to be reconciled to his choice, if not to approve 
of it. 

“After all it is just like Egbert,” she said to her 
daughters, “ and we will have to make the best of it.” 

Haldane’s leave of absence passed all too quickly, 
and in parting he said to Laura : 

“You think I have faced some rather difficult 
duties before, but there was never one that could 
compare with leaving you for the uncertainties of 
a soldier’s life.” 

But he went nevertheless, and remained till the 
end of the war. 

Not long after going to the front he was taken 
prisoner in a disastrous battle, but he found means 
of informing his old friend Dr. Orton af the fact. 
Although the doctor was a rebel to the back-bone, 
he swore he would “ break up the Confederacy ” if 
Haldane was not released, and through his influ- 


ANOTHER KNIGHT ARREARS. 581 

ence the young man was soon brought to his friend’s 
hospitable home, where he found Amy installed as 
housekeeper. She was now Mrs. Orton, for her lover 
returned as soon as it was safe for him to do so after 
the end of the epidemic. He was now away in the 
army, and thus Haldane did not meet him at that 
time ; but later in the conflict Colonel Orton in turn 
became a prisoner of war, and Haldane was able to 
return the kindness which he received on this occa- 
sion. Mrs. Poland resided with Amy, and they both 
were most happy to learn that they would eventu- 
ally have a relative as well as friend in their captive, 
for never was a prisoner of war made more of than 
Haldane up to the time of his exchange. 

Years have passed. The agony of the war has 
long been over. Not only peace but prosperity is 
once more prevailing throughout the land. 

Mr. and Mrs. Arnot reside in their old home, but 
Mrs. Egbert Haldane is its mistress. Much effort 
was made to induce Mr. Growther to take up his 
abode there also, but he would not leave the quaint 
old kitchen, where he said “ the little peaked-faced 
chap was sittin’ beside him all the time.” 

At last he failed and was about to die. Looking 
up into Mrs. Arnot’s face, he said : 

“ I don’t think a bit better of myself. I’m twisted 
all out o' shape. But the little chap has taught me 
how the Good Father will receive me.” 

The wealthiest people of Hillaton are glad to ob- 
tain the services of Dr. Haldane, and to pay for 
them ; they are glad to welcome him to their homes 
when his busy life permits him to come; but the 


^ih KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

proudest citizen must wait when Christ, in the per- 
son of the poorest and lowliest, sends word to this 
knightly man, I am sick or in prison ** I am 
naked or hungry.’* 


THE END. 


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